Wounds Unhealed
by Maid Of Many Names
Summary: Voldemort is finally defeated but his death is not as permanent as many would have hoped. Albus Dumbledore schemes to protect the wizarding world and Hermione Granger has a unique place in his plans.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Wounds Unhealed

Author: Maid Of Many Names

Author's Email: fractured_flower@ozemail.com.au

Rating: R

Summary: Voldemort is finally defeated but his death is not as permanent as many would have hoped. Albus Dumbledore schemes to protect the wizarding world and Hermione Granger has a unique place in his plans.

Author's Note: Due to the restrictions of ff.net, all adult material has been edited out. If readers desire to read the edited material, please email me.

Part 1

"Please sit down, Miss Granger."

Discreetly, Albus Dumbledore watched the young witch settle herself on the chair before his desk. Measuring and cautious, her eyes slid over the other two people in his office before she returned her gaze to him. Her poise and watchfulness belonged to a seasoned veteran of both skirmishes and betrayals. Albus had to restrain a sigh. So many children had been sacrificed. Their innocence had been crushed and they had been forged into warriors long before their time. It was too late to dwell on regrets, though. Even as the rest of Hogwarts rejoiced, he, Minerva and Severus raced against time. It would be his sad duty to see the young witch before him, take the burden of the future on her shoulders.

"May I ask why I've been called?" Hermione asked.

"Of course you can, my dear. I apologize for keeping you waiting. A man as old as I sometimes gets lost in his thoughts. Rather ponderous thoughts they were too," Albus replied. "You've been called because we need your help."

Albus watched as Hermione digested what he had said. Once she would have agreed to help without question. Some of her desire to please and instinctive trust of authority figures had waned. War had robbed many of their childhood, and Miss Granger was just one of many. The change in her both troubled and pleased him. It would make his request harder but it would make her far more successful at what he had to ask of her. While he had yet to pose his request, Albus doubted she would refuse. They had all strove too hard to fail now.

"Does my summons have to do with my position of Head Girl?"

"Alas, it is not. Despite the celebrations, I fear the war is not yet over."

"Have the remaining Death Eaters gathered for an attack?" Hermione asked with concern.

"Nothing quite so simple. It is their master that we must concern ourselves with. While his physical body was destroyed, along with the majority of his followers, Voldemort will return. I once said that there were many doorways between life and death and even now Voldemort searches for one. Professors McGonagall and Snape have been working with me to prevent that from happening. That would be disastrous for the wizarding world."

"Have you found a way to stop him?" Hermione spoke, her throat closing.

"That is where you come in, my dear. Forgive me if I seem to ramble but this is a complex matter. I trust you remember the incident in your second year with Tom Riddle's diary?"

"Yes, I was petrified but Harry, Ron and Ginny explained what happened," Hermione replied, confused at the Headmaster's tangent.

"Then you should know that Tom Riddle siphoned off Miss Weasley's energy in order to leave the diary. He may well have achieved life had Harry not destroyed the diary."

"B-but how could he have truly been alive?" Hermione questioned. "I mean, everything I've read suggests that life cannot be created from nothing."

"It's the lack of a soul that prohibits this. Even when you transfigure a boot into a mouse, the mouse really isn't alive. It simply takes on the semblance of a mouse."

"Then how could the diary have achieved life?"

"Tom Riddle also knew of the limitations of magic in creating life. In drawing energy from Miss Weasley, he created himself a body but not a soul. The body was enough, however, for him to draw his soul from the ether."

"His soul? Voldemort's soul," Hermione realized.

"Precisely, Miss Granger. He would not have had the memories of his years as Voldemort, though. The magic that Voldemort used to keep his memories intact even in death was overridden by the memories of the diary." 

"I don't mean any disrespect, Headmaster, but-"

"What does this have anything to do with our present situation?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione replied with a blush at her impertinence.

"Voldemort will return; that is inevitable. We have searched for a way to stop him and we have failed. As we must act quickly, there is little hope of finding a solution. Instead, we must take another approach. A soul is an infinite and most wondrous thing, Miss Granger, but it cannot exist in two places at the same time," Albus finished, his eyes twinkling.

A soul can't exist in two places, Hermione repeated in her mind. Realization hit hard and she could feel her cheeks pale, although she managed to keep her expression smooth. She had learned the hard way to keep her emotions in check, not that her impassive expression would fool Dumbledore. Or Professor Snape, who loomed behind the Headmaster, Hermione amended. In the privacy of her mind, her thoughts exploded. A dozen ideas that went nowhere screamed for attention. The risk- it was incalculable. Rumors that the Headmaster had crossed the line of genius into madness seemed to echo in her ears. For some moments Hermione wrestled down the futile flurry within her. She could explode with shock later. Now she had to find out what Dumbledore wanted with her.

"You intend on bringing Voldemort back as Tom Riddle," Hermione finally replied.

"You are correct again, Miss Granger, except that we have already done so."

"Even at seventeen he had killed and opened the Chamber Of Secrets. Tom Riddle or Voldemort, he is dangerous," Hermione argued with a growing sense of discomfort.

"That is why we will take precautions."

"And that is why I've been called?" Hermione asked, with a sudden stab of unease.

"You have been called because you are the brightest witch in all of Hogwarts. You also have first hand experience of the Dark and Voldemort. If we go forward with this plan, there must be something that checks Tom Riddle's activities. You are the perfect person for the job."

"Why not a professor, or adult wizard or an auror, sir? Surely someone with more experience would be more suitable," Hermione asked in a flood of surprise.

"That kind of experience in this case would be a detrimental. Most adult wizards have spent a good part of their lives under the threat of Voldemort. They do not have the flexibility of youth on their sides."

"Then I'm surprised you haven't asked Ginny Weasley. If anyone could guard against Tom Riddle, it would be her."

"We considered her," Albus admitted.

"Miss Weasley does not have the perspective required for the task," Professor Snape spoke for the first time, and ignored a glare from Professor McGonagall for the slight on one of her Gryffindors.

Vaguely, Hermione registered that Snape had given her a strange kind of compliment. Had the situation be anything but what it was, she would probably have been surprised. A compliment from Severus Snape was a momentous occasion. As it was, she barely gave it any thoughts. When she had been summoned, Hermione expected the Headmaster to require the services of the Head Girl, or perhaps ask for her aid in one of the many after-war projects starting up. This seemed unbelievable.

The war had taught Hermione many harsh lessons. Those lessons had peeled away some of her innocence and naivete, but she couldn't fool herself. To do what Dumbledore was asking, would require far more guile than she had. Did he really thing she could outwit Tom Riddle? The Headmaster's gaze made her fidget. Uneasily, Hermione let her eyes stray to Professor McGonagall. Her Head Of House's determination and confidence bolstered Hermione's sense of courage. The part of her the desperately wanted to please her teachers fought its way into the front. Surely, they wouldn't ask her if they didn't think she could do it?

"Severus is correct. I fear Miss Weasley's tragic experiences with Tom Riddle would make such a choice problematic. Miss Weasley also has another year at Hogwarts yet. Miss Granger, you have the intelligence and the strength to do this," Dumbledore spoke into the silence.

"What exactly would I be doing?"

"In essence, you would become Tom's guardian or warden. Naturally, you would need to prevent his further use of the Dark Arts and other destructive behavior. We must insure he will not continue down the dark path. You would also be responsible for introducing him to the modern world, both Muggle and wizarding."

"How could I stop him from practicing the Dark Arts? I doubt that he would be inclined to heed me."

The idea of Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, doing anything she said was ludicrous. Maybe she was bossy, but she wasn't that bossy. Hermione felt very uncomfortable with the Headmaster's idea. Returning Voldemort, in any form, was a frightening prospect. If he slipped whatever leash the Headmaster wanted to fit him with, the war would begin again. That sent a shiver of horror itching its way over her skin. Hermione had seen more suffering than most people would in several lifetimes. Would she dare take responsibility for Tom Riddle?

"That is why Severus and Minerva are here. First, Severus will ply you with several potions. Then Minerva, Severus and I will cast the essential spells. Effectively, this will render him, among other things, unable to harm you or go further than a mile away from you. He will also be unable to use magic without your knowledge. To an extent you can control his use of magic."

"For how long would I have to do this?"

"For life, Miss Granger. Once the process is complete, it cannot be reversed."

"Life?" Hermione echoed and then found herself bubbling with anger and shock. "What if he turns Dark anyway? Besides, I doubt the Ministry would let Tom Riddle just walk away!"

"The Ministry and the wizarding world have no idea that Tom Marvolo Riddle is Lord Voldemort."

The sheer scope of what Dumbeldore was asking her, scandalized Hermione into silence. She would not only have to hoodwink the Ministry but the remaining Death Eaters and her friends. Her whole life would be changed irreparably. Her life would be dedicated to guarding Tom Riddle. Just the thought of it made her feel dizzy. She couldn't believe she was being asked to sacrifice her life to baby-sit Tom Riddle. In all her dreams of the future, being a young Voldemort's jailer was not one of them. 

Hermione couldn't help but wonder what would happen to the promising future she had worked so hard for. That was if she agreed at all. Even as shocked as she was, Hermione's mind worked over what Dumbledore had said. All in all, it was a neat trap that Dumbledore had sprung on her. If he hadn't picked her to be his guinea pig, she would probably have been applauding the brilliance of his idea.

A wave of selfishness rose up and Hermione found it very difficult to fight. She wasn't convinced she was the best choice for a jailer anyway. Why he wouldn't just be given the Dementor's Kiss?

"I understand the theory behind returning Voldemort as Tom Riddle. If nothing else, it might buy us time to find another solution. What I don't understand is why he couldn't be sent to Azkaban? Surely a Dementor's Kiss would stop him from returning again?" Hermione asked, knowing she was being disrespectful but unable to help it.

"There is a high risk that the Kiss would allow Voldemort's memory to surface."

"But sir, the result would be the same, wouldn't it? The Dementor would still have eaten his soul," Hermione questioned.

"It is not something the Ministry publicizes, but it is theoretically possible for the soul of a wizard to posses a Dementor. It would take a wizard of great will and ability to manage it. I doubt Voldemort would hesitate to try."

The answer was blunt and neat crushed her flash of hope.

"This might sound petty, but what about my scholarship to university? My family?" Hermione asked in a small voice and her mind added 'My life'.

"I know what we are asking of you is extremely difficult. It's not a duty I would willingly press on an adult wizard. The circumstances being what they are, I do not see another choice. Be sure that I ask this of you with the deepest of regret. I can, however, guarantee that your further studies would not be disrupted. Your family can be told if you feel the need."

"Professor McGonagall?" Hermione questioned.

"Forgive us, child," McGonagall spoke and then looked away.

Three pairs of eyes drilled into her. Her heart rate doubled. She could fairly feel the pressure of three set of eyes on her.

"I'll do it," Hermione agreed.


	2. Part 2

Part 2

A flurry of activity followed her agreement. When Hermione had agreed, she'd shocked herself. A small part of her mind was busy cursing her Gryffindor honor and courage. For all her anxiety, Hermione knew she wouldn't change her mind. She trusted Dumbledore and knew that if there was another way, he would have found it. When she felt close to panicking, Hermione remembered the charred battlefields. The pain of seeing her friends die and the sting of betrayal, were captured perfectly in her finely honed memory. The wizarding world couldn't endure another war. If she had refused, inevitably history would be repeated. Dumbledore had been sure to impress that upon her. She wouldn't let it happen again.

Once she had agreed, she'd changed into a simple white cotton shift that Professor McGonagall had given her, and drank numerous potions under Snape's standard death glare. The potions master then disappeared with a second set of potions that Hermione guessed were to be given to Tom Riddle. Dumbledore had outlined what was to happen in his absence. Her instructions were to enter the room off of the Headmaster's office when told to. In that room would be Tom Riddle. Exactly what would happen then, she wasn't sure. Hermione had assumed that Dumbledore and her professors would cast the binding spells that would render Riddle unable to harm her or others. The lack of instructions rather bothered her. Complex instructions would have kept her mind occupied. When she asked Professor McGonagall why the explanation had been so brief, the professor had said that it as to complicated to explain in the time they had. So, Hermione waited nervously in her chair, feeling rather uncomfortable and exposed in her thin cotton shift.

"Professor McGonagall, may I ask how Tom Riddle was... created?"

"With Lucius Malfoy's death, a great number of Dark items that belonged to him came into Albus' possession. Among them was the diary. What had animated the diary was destroyed but we were able to salvage the memories. A body was then created using the diary as a template. It took all of my and the Headmaster's expertise in transfiguration to accomplish this and then Severus' potion making abilities to then stabilize the body."

"How long have you been planning this?" Hermione asked in astonishment.

"Three days. Only Severus' potions have kept us on our feet," the older woman sighed.

"Minerva... what will I tell my friends?" Hermione asked the woman that had been a second mother to her.

"Mr Potter and Miss Weasley will be briefed, like your parents. You can choose to share this turn of events with Mr Weasley but I caution you to say nothing to anyone else. They are true friends, Hermione. Don't doubt them," Minerva encouraged gently and then stopped as Dumbledore entered.

"Miss Granger, we are ready for you now."

Standing, Hermione swallowed and stepped towards the open door. Before she'd gone more than a few steps, Minerva took her into a warm embrace. For a moment, the older woman held her close and then they parted. Hermione would have sworn there were tears in the transfiguration professor's eyes. Hermione felt a lump in her throat rise. Wasn't she supposed to be a brave Gryffindor? She certainly wasn't feeling very courageous. Her fit of nerves annoyed her. Hadn't she done battle with Death Eaters? Hadn't she faced creatures made of nightmares? Hermione focused on her determination to do what she had to. Her decision was made. Shoulders square, she walked through the door.

His appearance was something of a shock to her. Ginny and Harry had described their encounter with Tom Riddle but it wasn't the same as seeing him herself. Hermione half expected him to wear the serpentine visage of Voldemort. Instead, he was a surprisingly normal and attractive young man. He was sprawled across the bed as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He was wearing pajama bottoms of the same material as her shift and nothing else. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest told her he was alive. Hermione was suddenly very aware of how easily the scene might be misinterpreted. The atmosphere seemed suffocating in its intimacy.

Stepping closer, Hermione she found herself strangely mesmerized by his full lower lip. Along with her unexpected fixation she started felt all illogical and giddy. Loosed from her control, her mind filled with images of licking the line of that lip. Something low in her abdomen clenched in response to her wild fancies. But it was more than simple lust. It was luxuriating in shared body warmth and the desire to memorize the line of his profile. Vainly, Hermione struggled. She needed to cool down, she needed to run, she needed... As if by itself, her hand reached out almost of its own accord to brush against his cheek. The flesh under her fingertips was warm and solid. Eyelids snapped open and dark eyes regarded her. A bolt of awareness, shuddered through her taking her breath. Those eyes drew her closer until legs collided with the bed.

"What is your name?" he asked in a dazed undertone.

"Hermione," she whispered.

"I-I'm Tom," he replied softly and his fingers brushed against hers.

That was all it took. Hungrily, she devoured the very lips that entranced her moments before. Hazily, Hermione realized there was something wrong but she found it increasingly difficult to follow that thought. Scorching and aching as if it was a living thing, longing filled her, making Hermione lose any restraint that yet lingered. Desperately, she needed him relieve the dizzying desire that seemed to pour though her at the simplest of his touches. When his lips lifted from hers, she whimpered in desolation. They returned quickly and her mouth opened. Cool relief poured through as longing turned to bliss as his tongue twisted with hers. Their bodies brushed and then pressed against each other, in a frantic clasp. Any hesitation vanished.

* * *

Just as the couple achieved orgasm, the spell was complete. The soft chanting of the three onlookers seemed to echo for a moment before vanishing from perception. Dumbledore sighed with mingled relief and sadness and then followed his two friends out of the room. He doubted if the lovers had even noticed their presence. Such was the power of Severus' potions. With the final spell cast, there was no going back. Soon he would face the accusations and the hurt of the two unwitting lovers. He would have to tell the truth this time. It was an ugly and cutting truth. Albus wished, not for the first of the last time, that there was another way.

"Oh Albus! What have we done?" Minerva sobbed.

"Nothing more than what we had to," Severus replied harshly.

As unaffected as the potions master wished to seem, Albus could pick out the strained notes in his voice. None of them had done what they had easily or without great regret. Two of the greatest students that Hogwarts had ever produced, had just been used by the very people who were meant to protect them. Sickened and world weary, Dumbledore slumped onto his chair. Fawkes flew in and onto his shoulder. Somewhat comforted, Albus rubbed the phoenix's head. What was done, was done. He could only hope for the future.

"When will they wake, Severus?" Dubledore asked.

"Soon. I cannot give you a precise time as I have never fully tested the potion."

"Nor should you. Such magic is an abomination!" Minerva cried.

"We all agree on that. There is no need to argue among ourselves. We should focus on what we must do to smooth their shock," Dumbledore interrupted.

"What are we going to say, Albus? That we drugged them with Dark potions? That we-" Snape growled, but was interrupted mid tirade.

"That is enough! I am well aware of what we did. Regrets and recriminations will not change what we have done," Dumbledore spoke, quelling the simmering guilt shared by all three of them.

"There are still two weeks of classes. It is a formality with the N.E.W.Ts already taken but it would be odd if Hermione missed any classes," Minerva said as a peace offering.

"The appearance of a stranger without a good reason for being at Hogwarts, would unsettle the other students. Not to mention arouse suspicions. There is also the matter of Potter and Miss Weasley," Snape followed.

"Agreed, agreed. Miss Granger and Mr Riddle will require time to grow accustomed to the binding. Perhaps it would be best for Miss Granger to start a special extra credit project?"

"In what? Dark Wizards 101?" Snape sneered.

"I was thinking about lessons in becoming an animagus," Albus replied, with a quelling look at Snape.

"*Have* you lost your marbles? Potter and his little flunkies did that in their sixth year. Quite against school policy, I'll remind you," Snape growled.

"That's exactly my point. The rest of the school doesn't know Miss Granger makes a lovely sparrow. She would be free to spend a significant amount of time out of class without suspicion. It might also be best if we fabricate an illness for the first day. As for Mr Riddle... we shall introduce him as a visiting wizard interested in doing some independent study at Hogwarts."

A reluctant agreement was reached. None of them could really guess the state of the two forced lovers once the potions wore off. Albus was very aware that they were planning for the best and ignoring the worst. Even aware of it, he couldn't make himself consider the less pleasant outcomes. Both individuals involved were intensely private and did not take kindly to manipulation. Such an intrusion as what they had perpetrated against them could be catastrophic. Still, there was so much to be gained if Tom and Hermione accepted-. His circular thoughts were cut off as his wards told him the couple had awoken.

* * *

There was no grace period between waking and sleeping. There was only bitter truth. Hermione felt her heart explode with panic and then contract with horror as her mind replayed recent events. If that wasn't enough, she was twined intimately with her fellow participant. For several moments, she didn't dare even twitch. She didn't think she could deal with waking the man that shared her bed. The very thought sent her stomach flip-flopping. Scalding tears of humiliation and pain blistered her eyes. Hermione had never felt so used.

It wasn't that hard to guess what had happened. She could only feel ashamed at her own stupidity. The years of war had taught her better than to swallow any potion she didn't recognize. Or worse, to blindly agree to something without knowing all of the details. Part of her remarked that she deserved everything that had happened. Hermione cringed at the self-hate that had infiltrated her mind. She might have been stupid, but she didn't deserve what had happened.

The horrible dirty feeling that she'd felt upon waking returned with vengeance. It made her want to scour off the first few layers of skin. The desire for clothes was similarly strong. To her extreme relief, her uniform was folded carefully on the side table. Another pile of clothes lay beside hers. It was obvious they were for the man beside her. The planned nature of what happened abraded her already wounded trust. Had they lied to her? She couldn't think about that yet. If she did, then she'd dissolve into a hysterical pile.

Hermione eased away from the warm male body beside her. She dared not move more than an inch at a time for fear of waking him. Heart beating like a rabbit's, Hermione finally was free of the limbs that had been draped about her. Free of the close contact, she felt like she could breath again. Her insides were still wrapped about her spine but she felt better. Now she only had to slide out of the bed. Before she began to move again, she glanced towards his sleeping face. To her utter horror, two dark eyes regarded her with a mix of curiosity and sharp evaluation.

"What did you give me?" he spoke, his voice was clear and demanding with a hint of a threat. 

"W-we need to see the Headmaster," Hermione stuttered, wishing her wand wasn't on the bedside table.

His cold assessment continued for a few moments before he nodded. His words had too closely mirrored her own questions. It was all happening so fast. Less than a few hours ago, she was celebrating Voldemort's defeat. Now she was... Hermione's train of thought petered out. She couldn't think about it yet. Mindlessly, Hermione grabbed her clothes and then as an afterthought, his too. To her relief, he accepted them without a word. She wasn't sure she could bear to look him in the face, let alone talk to him. Just as her last button was closed, the door opened to reveal Professor McGonagall.

"Come this way, please," McGonagall said in firm tones.

Without hesitation, Hermione obeyed. She deeply desired to leave the bedroom, even if she had to confront the people who had done this to her. In the Headmaster's office, the three faculty members waited. Hermione took the chair offered to her and eased herself into it. The Headmaster tried to catch her eye, but Hermione kept her gaze trained to the floor. Meeting his eye would make her either yell or cry. Neither were responses she could afford. The ball of fury and betrayal that churned in her stomach, demanded answers. Hermione wanted to shout and yell but she didn't dare. If she let free any emotion, she wasn't sure if she could hold back the rest.

"Mr Riddle, Miss Granger, you have my deepest apologies. A terrible thing was done to you but it was a necessary thing. Miss Granger, you know my reasons for doing this. I didn't lie, but I regret that I purposefully mislead you as to the specifics of what would happen. Rest assured that I will not deceive you on this matter again," Dumbledore said sadly.

At the Headmaster's words, her throat closed up. How could she be sure Dumbledore would tell the truth this time? The faith she'd had in Dumbeldore and her teachers was greatly shaken. Maybe there had been a good reason for what they did. Dumbledore's eyes beseeched for her to understand. Dire circumstances sometimes required dire solutions. Hermione was no stranger to the hard decisions that came with war. It did not grant her any great solace, not matter how she tried to convince herself. It had hurt deeply that three of the people she most trusted would see fit to exploit her in that way. 

She had agreed, that she wouldn't argue, but she'd had no concept of what she was agreeing too. 

Hermione knew that her hurt couldn't be easily dismissed. She wanted nothing more than to go to her room and have a good cry but that would have to be later. For now, she wanted, with all of her know-it-all heart, to learn what had happened. Although she was avoiding the memories of what had happened earlier, she could recall chanting. The idea that the Headmster and two of her professors had seen her like that embarrassed her greatly. Hermione also knew that they wouldn't have been there unless there was a reason.

"What plan have you cooked up, Dumbledore, that you didn't dare tell one of your precious Gryffindors? The last I remember was Potter destroying my diary," Tom Riddle spoke, saving Hermione of the effort of saying something.

"It has been five years since Harry Potter destroyed your diary. It has been less than three days since Voldemort has been defeated."

Hermione could tell the Headmaster's words had affected Tom. Discretely, she watched him from the corner of her eyes. His long fingers curled around the carved wooden armrests. As memories surfaced of how he'd used those nimble fingers on her, Hermione blanched and hurriedly moved her gaze to his face. Closed and stern, his expression gave nothing away. Riddle's complexion, however, did gave him away. Pale though he was, he had whitened a shade more. She wasn't sure, however, if it was rage or shock.

"Then I surprised to be here." Tom replied.

"As I told Hermione, returning you to the living wasn't something easily or lightly done. Voldemort was defeated, but it was only a matter of time until he returned. Death is not as final as many may want. Your presence was a matter of choosing the lesser evil," Dumbledore explained solemnly.

"The lesser of two evils I might be, but do you really think things will end differently this time?"

"I suspect you have guessed your encounter was magically aided?" Dumbledore asked suddenly.

"I have. Love potions?" Tom Riddle frowned. "They only have a short term affect and will be of little use if you think to control me with them."

"Our Potions Master gave you several different potions. Among them was a short acting love potion. A highly illegal love potion, to be exact," Dumbledore agreed.

"Illegal?" Hermione blurted.

"It is of Professor Snape's own devising. You both have studied the limitation and drawbacks of love potions. Miss Granger, can you tell us?"

"The drawbacks are that the effect is short term and the potion quickly builds up in a person's body. An example is the Amore potion. It is the longest lasting love potion known. It lasts four days but can only be taken once every four months without side effects. The limitation of love potions is that they create a very general effect. The first person the victim sees after consuming the potion becomes the target of their affection," Hermione replied softly.

"Correct, Miss Granger. While Severus can do nothing for the longevity of such a potion, he worked wonders in refining the effect."

"Do you really believe that a paltry love potion will stop me from achieving my destiny?"

"The potion was essential, Mr Riddle," Dumbledore rebuked. "Your impatience always was one of your shortcomings. Perhaps I should have Minerva explain this part. Minerva?"

The transfiguration professor nodded and stepped forward. Hermione winced as she looked at her professor. The older woman's face was stiff with withheld emotions. To be fair, Dumbledore also seemed almost pained. Even Snape seemed graver than usual. Hermione's eyes ached with tension. To see her professors like that, frightened her. She almost didn't want to hear what they had to say. Yet, she couldn't leave. She needed answers, as unpleasant as they might be.

"When I was at university I studied magical history in addition to transfiguration. I did my final thesis on the marriage traditions in ancient magical Rome," Minerva spoke and then swallowed hard.

"Explain how marriages were thought of during the Roman times or it won't make sense at all," Snape growled, impatiently.

"I was getting to that, Severus! In the days of Rome, most marriages between magical families were arranged. At the time there were few witches and wizards, partly due to the deaths caused by rivalries and feuds. Marriages were a deeply formal, alliance creating process. The pressure to produce more magical children was also an important aspect of these marriages. The marriage traditions of the times reflected these needs," Minerva replied, after glaring at Snape. "To ensure the couple remained together, and provided children, the magical essence of the couple were joined. The process ensured the families were bound by the alliance, as the couple could not separate or use magic against their partner's family."

"All marriage vows require consent," Tom snarled, jumping to his feet. "I gave no such consent. What you are so ineptly implying is impossible."

"That was why the love potion was essential," Snape replied with a smirk.

"The vows only require subconscious consent. Under the influence of the potion, consent was given," Dumbledore added.

The appalled glare she received when Tom whirled around, made her jump with its ferocity. When his expression melted into disbelief, she guessed he'd suspected her of knowing all along but had discarded that idea having seen her unmasked shock and horror. Indeed, Dumbledore's revelation had provoked a near panic. Whatever she had expected, this wasn't it. Her brain numbly repeated that she couldn't possibly be married to Tom Riddle. Frantically, Hermione's thoughts raced to refute what Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had said. The professor had spoken about the magic used in ancient marriages, not about marriage itself. Hermione felt a sliver of hope.

"We can't be married! It can't be legal," Hermione stumbled out awkwardly.

"As soon as the Ministry hears of this, it won't take long until what you did is reversed," Tom bit out.

"It isn't a legal marriage according to the Ministry, and so no laws were broken. The connection that it creates, however, is more binding than most legal marriages. It is more binding than wizard or blood debts. There is no way to reverse it, Tom," Dumbledore replied to both questions and the room fell into a long silence.

"If we have to live with this, then what exactly does it do? We have a right to know, sir," Hermione finally said.

"Indeed, you do need to know the consequences of this binding. It would be best if Minerva explains to you, Hermione, while I speak with young Mr Riddle."

Hermione nodded her assent and followed her head of house. While she felt a little cross at being brushed aside, she was glad to leave the office. Hermione had no desire to witness the confrontation that seemed to be brewing. The Headmaster probably had a lot to say to Tom Riddle. Perhaps she had gotten the better side of the bargain. Besides, the cheery office was beginning to grate on her fragile nerves. 

* * *

Once reading the dubious sanctuary of Professor McGonngal's office, she was engulfed into the professor's embrace. Smelling faintly of heather, the cloth of Minerva's robes Hermione felt soft under her cheek. It was a soothing sensation and her heart lurched and she struggled with the emotional tempus she was trying vainly to keep at bay. The honest distress from the woman she respected, admired and considered a second mother was almost too much.

"Oh my poor Hermione! This is such a terrible state of affairs. Can you ever forgive us?" the professor cried.

The tears that filled Minerva's eyes unleashed her own. The shock and dismay she had been holding back resurfaced in ugly sobs. When her storm of misery abated, her eyes were puffy and she had a pronounced sniff. Minerva reluctantly let her go and sat with her on one of the comfortable chairs before the fire. With her tears loosed, Hermione felt strangely numb. It was a blessed state of peace after the high emotions evoked by the recent events. Hermione wasn't sure she wished to risk it by talking about what had happened, but she knew there wasn't a choice.

"Are you ready for me to explain?" Minerva asked hesitantly.

"I think so. Can you first tell me why it had to be that spell?"

"As I said, that spell binds the magic of the couple. The benefit of this arrangement is that you are both stronger."

"Stronger? Surely, that wouldn't be considered a good thing," Hermione replied, thoughts of an even stronger Voldemort going through her head.

"Perhaps not in any other circumstance. The strengthening side effect isn't why we used it, though. Tom Riddle is too dangerous to be left to his own devices. Albus explained that," Minerva replied and then paused for a moment as she shook her head. "This spell will do exactly what the Headmaster told you in the beginning. Riddle won't be able to stray further than a mile from you. Most importantly, you can prevent him from using magic."

"Stop him from using magic?! I had no idea that such a thing was possible."

"That is one of the reasons why this form of binding has fallen into disuse. Most wizards don't believe it is possible so they do not attempt it. Unfortunately, the magic repression works both ways. While you prevent him from using magic, you won't be able to use magic either."

"B-but that would take an enormous amount of energy to do. Not to mention I don't understand how the bond can be sustained. I've read about how binding spells have to be strengthened or the will of the target overcomes it," Hermione replied.

"You truly are one of the brightest students Hogwarts has produced. I fear you will not like the answer, Hermione. I will tell you if you choose, but you have had such a shock tonight. Maybe when you have had a good night's-"

"Professor... please?" Hermione spoke in a small voice. "Not knowing will just make me imagine worse things."

Minerva nodded, and Hermione felt a flush of relief. She had been deceived once and having more information withheld from her wasn't something she would stand. She had forgiven them. She had to. It didn't take away the hurt or the anger but it was a start. Hearing everything Minerva could tell her, was the next step. Hermione had to repress a snort of laughter. When in doubt she reached for knowledge.

"The binding does need to be... revitalized. Hermione, I'll try to explain simply. There are several forms of primal, elemental magic that were the basis of many ancient spells. Do you know what some of them are?"

"I've seen references but none of the books I've read said what they were," Hermione replied automatically.

"Yes, well, it's considered old fashioned at best and Dark at the worst. The two forms of primal magic are sex and blood and by extension birth and death. The binding we used was founded on both sex magic and blood magic."

"Sex magic," Hermione repeated blankly. "You mean we have to do... that again?"

"Thankfully, no. When the time comes, you will both be compelled to renew the binding. All you will have to do is slit your palms and press them together and the binding will take care of the rest." 

"If the binding was created using a foundation of two types of magic, then wouldn't it demand the second?" Hermione asked feeling her embarrassment rise.

"That is my last warning to you. The binding was originally created to facilitate the production children, thus the base in sex magic. The compulsion can be resisted and you will have to stand firm. Don't worry, you won't have to have to face that anytime soon. The double virgin sacrifice insured that, as well as compensating for the lack of direct consent."

This time Hermione felt her face flush a bright red. What Minerva had just told her ranked high under the list of things you never wanted to know about the Evil Villain, even if he wasn't quite the Evil Villain yet. It didn't help that her embarrassment was doubled due to the fact her Professors knew she'd been a virgin prior to the spell. While she wasn't ashamed that she had been untouched, Hermione didn't like the whole Hogwarts staff to know about her private life. Being Head Girl put her under enough scrutiny as it was. 

As her embarrassment faded, Hermione began to wonder. Depraved thing that he was, Voldemort was no virgin. Had that played a part in why they returned him as Tom Riddle? Or even why she was chosen over Ginny? In her fifth year, Ginny had related her rather boisterous affair with one of the Ravenclaw chasers to Hermione. It had been an awkward situation for Hermione but she was Ginny's only female friend and thus had the dubious honor of hearing about her escapades.

"Did that have something to do with why I was chosen?" Hermione asked as calmly as she could.

"Yes, it was one of the selection criteria. The loss of virginity, for male or female, can amplify magic. That amplification was greatly needed for the spell to work. The love potion created unconscious consent, but that consent wasn't as clear or as strong as conscious consent. The power of the sacrifice had to compensate."

"You mean it could have all been for nothing?" Hermione bit out.

"Child, I don't blame you for being angry. What we did was reprehensible in the extreme but I must stand by our decision. Voldemort could not be allowed to return," Minerva responded firmly. "It wasn't just you who made sacrifices, Hermione. Albus, Severus and myself dangerously exhausted ourselves to cast the spell. We would have killed ourselves to see that it *did* work. Furthermore, as much as I am loath to say it, Tom Riddle is probably feeling much the way you are."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione apologized not really feeling very repentant.

"It's understandable," Minerva replied awkwardly. "Perhaps we should speak of the practical arrangements surrounding your new situation?"

The all of questions she had asked were willingly answered, but as she had suspected, those answers weren't easily accepted. She also knew that there would only be more questions and even more uncomfortable answers as time went on. A persistent pounding had taken residence in her temples. Hermione felt as if her back had become a hot poker from the tension coiled in her body. She felt as if the strain would tear her apart. Hermione sighed. She didn't want to give into her fears but the change in subject was most welcome.

"Yes, there are some things I would like to ask," Hermione responded softly. "I was wondering about university. I have a scholarship to Great Oaks and was planning to attend next year. W-what will I do about Tom Riddle's presence?"

"The Headmaster is well aquatinted with Maria Alder, the High Witch of the university. She was only too glad to accept another bright student."

"But what of the limitations placed upon Riddle? You said he wouldn't be able to go far from me."

"You can explain his constant presence... by bending the truth and say there is a blood bond between you. They are uncommon but not unheard of in wizarding society, especially after a war. People won't press for details, as it's considered very rude. Do some research into the matter to prepare yourself."

"And in the meantime? There are still several weeks of classes," Hermione inquired.

"We will inform the school that you are completing a special project that will span the rest of the year. During this time you will receive instruction on the subtleties of the binding. I'll explain this training later. The Headmaster has also suggested that you be listed as ill for a day so that you might recover away from prying eyes."

The Professor's suggestions were welcome news to Hermione. Normally, she'd do anything to avoid missing classes but she needed time to adjust. Her whole life had been turned on its ear in a matter of hours. The practical arrangements in and of themselves would be considerable. For a few moments, Hermione took solace in the simplicity of listing all the things that had to be done. Such mundane tasks were soothing in their simply, unlike the other issues she was grappling with. Hermione knew herself well and soon her ability to keep a calm façade and to be rational would soon be exhausted. Privacy and time would be a blessing. Alone she could make a fool of herself without an audience. 

Minerva was again looking at her with kindly eyes. There was a trace of pity in her teacher's eyes that made Hermione's stomach knot. Clenching her fist, Hermione savored the pain of her nails digging into her palm. The sharp pain pushed away emotional turmoil and she looked back at her teacher.

"What kind of special project am I supposed to be doing?" Hermione asked with a frown.

"The Headmaster suggested animagism, although I believe you do not need further tutoring in that subject?" Minerva said raising an eyebrow.

"No..." Hermoine blushed.

"Blaise Zabini, the Head Boy, has been offered an apprenticeship in Poland with a well known Astrologer. He has been persuaded to leave early and he caught a portkey an hour ago. Tom will take Zabini's chambers. He should be familiar with them having been Head Boy himself."

"More the of the Headmaster's influence?" Hermione asked dryly.

"Do show respect for your elders but, yes, Albus did arrange Zabini's early placement."

"Must I live next to... Riddle?" Hermione couldn't help but say.

"Hermione, I understand how awkward this is but you must get used to it. Tom will be a permanent fixture in your life."

Somehow, Hermione had avoided thinking about that. She had almost convinced herself that this was just a temporary nightmare but she and Riddle would be forced to coexist for as long as they lived. Hermione paled. Magical folk often lived to be two hundred or more. That was final enough to Hermione. That part of the deal, however, wasn't something that had been hidden from her. Readily she had agreed to it. She'd made her decision. Cross, Hermione bit her lip. She shouldn't doubt herself. She had to stand by what she'd done.

"When will my family and friends be told, Professor? Could my parents be told first? It's just that they expect me home for the summer holidays and well..."

"Arrangements can be made for them to be flooed in tomorrow morning, if you wish," McGonagalll replied.

"Thank you. Is there anything else that I should know?" Hermione asked, her mind too shocked to come up with more questions.

"Not at the moment. If there is anything you wish to ask later, don't hesitate to ask myself, Severus or the Headmaster. We will give you all the aid and assistance we can."

Hermione wasn't particularly reassured by her professor's words. Instead she nodded and Minerva hustled her back to the Headmaster's office. The sudden flood of feelings she experienced as she stepped through the door could only be described as stage fright. When Hermione stepped through the door, her duty would begin. She would be thrust from the nest and was expected to fly. Blindly hoping that she wouldn't mess up, Hermione entered the room.

* * *

Two blue eyes sparkled tiredly at him in the most infuriating manner. It took a great effort not to grit his teeth. Tom had schooled his features into a mask of distant neutrality but the old man saw right through it. Dumbledore had always had the most annoying ability to know exactly what he was hiding. For seven years he'd charmed and deceived his way through Hogwarts. While Dumbledore had not believed in his carefully constructed façade, he could not prove Tom was not the charming young wizard he seemed to be. Now, however, Dumbledore had ample proof. Everything he'd worked for had been destroyed. 

Giving up the pretense of disinterest, Tom let some of the vast abyss of rage and disgust show on his face. The twinkling eyes simply regarded him with compassion and the older wizard shook his head. Tom felt suddenly naked. Could Dumbledore see the other emotions he'd strived to hide beneath his anger? He didn't want pity.

To be bound for life, to that busy haired girl horrified him. Having been forced to endure close quarters as a child, Tom had always favored solitude. To be eternally bound to another being appalled him. Another blow to his pride was that she was a mudblood. The moment he'd heard her last name, he'd known. Her name was not on the registry of wizarding families that he was so familiar with. It was yet another ploy of Dumbledore's. Tom guessed it was probably to teach him 'tolerance'. Didn't the old fool know that familiarity bred contempt?

With his graduation from Hogwarts, he believed himself to finally be free. He'd be freed from the casual negligence of the orphanage and the sickening presence of muggles. Most importantly, he had been free to ascend to his rightful place as Lord Voldemort. His future had glowed with promise of greatness. Now he was returned to life amid the ruins of his older self's final defeat and he's been shackled to a mudblood by a crazy old man. Tom would rather have been left in the diary.

"Nothing to say, Tom?" Dumbledore asked.

"Your motives are transparent. Do you really thing you can 'redeem' me? I am Lord Voldemort. That little mudblood can do nothing to stop me. You'll hang yourself on your noble principals, yet."

"It is true that you have something of a second chance but what you make of it is your business. If you wish to be redeemed, then you shall be. If you should try to resist your binding... there is nothing I can do to prevent you but you will have to face the consequences. As for Miss Granger... what if I told you that 'mudblood' was one of the six people who stood against Lord Voldemort and immerged triumphant?"

"Impossible. Lord Voldemort would not have been defeated by a school girl."

"I did not say that Miss Granger defeated Voldemort. Lord Voldemort was killed by Harry Potter. Miss Granger provided much needed assistance."

Tom digested the information that Dumbledore had given him. It was not in the least pleasant, to find that it had been Potter who had defeated his older self again. Surely the boy could not have been a match for the knowledge and power his older self must have accumulated? Wondering how Potter had done it troubled him. What was the fatal weakness within him that had allowed the Potter brat victory? He had never liked mysteries and despised failure. 

As for Herm-Granger's contribution, he ignored it. Tom was putting a great deal of effort into ignoring everything regarding her. He'd never paid much attention to girls while at Hogwarts. They were just another impediment on the path to true power. The intimacy that had been forced upon them was something he found greatly uncomfortable. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. Until he had examined the implications of the encounter, he would remain cautious. Frowning at how his thoughts had meandered to the very subject he was avoiding, he turned them to more important pursuits.

"Then I must endeavor to not repeat the mistakes of my older self," Tom finally replied.

"Let us overlook our differences for the moment and speak of present matters. Have a lemon drop," Dumbledore replied and proffered a lemon drop that Tom refused with a sneer. "I am sure you have questions about the binding."

"How the binding can be permanent? The will of the bound person overwhelms a binding eventually."

"Very clever of you to remember that. The marriage binding is different as it relies on consent. With your consent given, the binding was established in a ways that makes it impossible to fight."

"So you sacrifice one of your Gryffindors to the Slytherin serpent. Maybe I was wrong. Your principals are beginning to look rather tarnished," Tom spoke in a scathing tone.

"It was essential and Miss Granger knows it. I know you probably think little of her, but she is the brightest student I've come across since yourself. You will be bound together for the rest of your life, Tom. I hope that you will come to appreciate her."

"And what stops me from disposing of her?"

"I am aware of your fondness for the Unforgivables. They will not avail you. I will not allow you to ravage the wizarding world again, Tom. The losses were too great. That is where the secondary function of the wedding binding becomes useful. The binding allows one of the couple to prevent the other from using magic. Of course, neither can use magic while they do this. She will see to it that you do not harm others. Nor will you be able to arrange an accident for Miss Granger. Should she die, then you will be pulled into death with her."

"That is why you do not fear that I kill myself and allow my older self to return," Tom said with a bitter smile. "You have outdone yourself, old man. Am I confined to Hogwarts?"

"You will not be confined. Miss Granger will be attending Great Oaks next fall. I have organized for you to attend with her." 

"So I am to be that mudblood's pet?! It seems that the great Dumbledore will lower himself to revenge," Tom barked.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle! I have overlooked your behavior due to the extenuating circumstances, but I will not allow you to continue to take that tone," Dumbledore rebuked. "I am aware of the plans you made after your graduation. I will not allow it. The binding will not allow you further than a mile away from Miss Granger but I doubt that you will her 'pet'. There is great opportunities at Great Oaks for the both of you."

The sneer on his lips widened into a snarl. Shame and loathing burned like acid along his veins. Dumbledore might delude himself but Tom knew the truth. He was to be nothing more than a sideshow attraction; the Dark Lord powerless and chained to a mudblood. Hate pounded against his temples and Tom clenched his fists. He would never admit defeat. He might not be able to rid himself of the girl but there were other ways.

"What else do I need to know?" Tom asked, his teeth clenched.

He forced himself to pay attention as Dumbledore explained how the binding had to be replenished. Listening to Dumbledore speak allowed him precious moments to regain control of his temper. Normally, his control was far better but the recent events had smashed it. By the time Dumbledore was finished, Tom had smoothed his features into a calm mask. He had also gained control of his internal tempest. He needed to be able to think clearly.

"I have seen to it that you can take the Head Boy chambers next to Hermione. Your presence will be explained as a graduate student who wishes to embark on some further research here at Hogwarts. You have a day to acclimatize yourself before Miss Granger and yourself must learn control of the binding," Dumbledore concluded.

"It seems I have little choice," Tom spoke with false calm. "What of Miss Granger? I assume she has classes."

"Her absence will be explained to the student body. I'm sure you can ask Miss Granger about that," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling once more. "Now, I believe Minerva and Miss Granger are to rejoin us."

The girl entered looking as if she was preparing to do battle with a rampaging dragon. While he was loath to admit it, Tom would have preferred the rampaging dragon to the unpleasant reminder of his bondage to the mudblood. His own awkwardness made him sneer. The bushy haired girl caught the expression and flushed with anger and embarrassment. Tom didn't bother to correct her assumption that the expression had been meant for her. Instead he returned his hard gaze to the Headmaster. The older man was smiling benignly at the two witches as if they had been discussing nothing more pressing than the weather.

"Miss Granger, why don't you lead Mr Riddle to the Head Girl and Boy's suit? You have a day free and then I wish to see you both in my office at the beginning of classes," Dumbledore spoke.

Tom disdained to comment further and followed without hesitation. There would be plenty of opportunities for testing the limitations of the binding and Hermione Granger's character. As they walked, Tom observed the girl carefully. He noticed she all but refused to look directly at him. This amused him somewhat. Granger had clearly been upset at Dumbledore's manipulations. That was something he could use. The doddering old fool might trust her but anyone could be turned.

"The password to the suite is 'heliotrope'. Blaise's personal password should be reset to the default which is 'success'."

Her soft voice had surprised him. Tom had expected her to be somewhat hostile but she was strangely neutral. To his amazement, he found himself feeling a little irritated his presence hadn't garnered a more intense reaction. While he was tempted to lash out verbally against the girl, he restrained himself. Instead he gave the pleasant and innocent smile he'd perfected for his professors and fellow students. Granger just shook her head, her eyes ancient. Then she turned away and left him standing outside the portrait. Anger and pride flared and Tom swore under his breath. He'd get to that mudblood, even if it was the last thing he did!

* * *

Hermione barely made it into her room before she started shaking. Hurriedly, she went through the motions of peeling her clothes of and stumbling into her private bathroom. With a brief flick of her wand, the bath was filled with steaming water. The whimper of relief exited her choked throat as she immersed herself in the lavender scented water, soon turned into a long repressed sob.


	3. Part 3

Part 3

"Miss Granger, it's time to wake."

Insistent, the hand shaking her shoulder refused to let her slip back into the soft haven of sleep. Hermione blearily opened her eyes and realized it was Professor McGonagall by her bed. This made her abruptly pull herself upright. The older nodded in approval and handed her a set of robes from the wardrobe. Hermione forced her mind to follow her body into wakefulness. It was an unpleasant process. 

She had collapsed from emotional and physical exhaustion after her bath but sleep hadn't left her feeling replenished. Her body ached in ways that it never had before. Her mental state was very similar. Hermione felt strangely at a loss as to what she should be feeling. Tears had dulled the sharp edges of her emotions and she was left the dull remnants. Hermione had no idea what she was supposed to do. That wasn't a situation she particularly liked. As she dressed, Hermione wondered what Minerva wanted.

"It's good to see that you can get ready so quickly. Your parents will be arriving by floo in a few moments. Professor Snape is escorting them," Minerva explained.

"Professor Snape?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"It is better that as few people as possible are involved. Severus wasn't pleased but he understands the situation. Now come along. The Headmaster is expecting you and I must see to Mr Riddle."

She had forgotten her parents were to visit Hogwarts. While she had requested it, Hermione was beginning to wish she hadn't. What could she say to them? They had been told about Voldemort but Hermione wasn't sure they really understood how dangerous he'd been. They regarded the wizarding world with awe and delight but sometimes she thought her parents felt it was some kind of exotic dream. Noticing that McGonagall was waiting for a response, Hermione managed a nod before following the professor's instructions. Apprehensively, Hermione entered the Headmaster's office. Thankfully she was spared trying to guess the password, as it hadn't been changed from when she'd been escorted yesterday. Hermione sighed. It seemed like a century ago.

"Ah, Miss Granger, do come in. Your parents have arrived," Dumbledore spoke as she hovered just outside of his office door.

Needing no more urging, Hermione entered and was swept up in her parent's arms. The embraces were almost too much. The urge to huddle into their arms like a child wanting reassurance was unbearably strong. Hermione was decidedly teary as she parted from them. Her mother seemed confused and her father was beginning to realize something was wrong. Hermione swallowed her emotions and smiled at them. This seemed to calm them and Hermione knew she would have to be as strong as possible as things were explained.

"Mr Granger, Mrs Granger, no doubt you are wondering why I've requested your presence," Dumbledore began.

"Yes, we are curious to know why you have gone to such lengths to bring us here and, please, call me Alan and my wife Lydia."

"Are you aware of Voldemort's recent defeat?" Albus asked.

"Hermione organized for us to have a subscription with the Daily Prophet. We've read the articles and Hermione sent a letter about what happened," Lydia replied.

"That will make things easier to explain. Voldemort was defeated but I fear the situation is far more complex than what the Prophet has reported," Dumbledore spoke and seemed to grow older as he explained. "For a wizard with as much power and determination as Lord Voldemort, death is not necessarily final. He had already proved this once."

"So you're saying that he'll be back?" Alan said, frowning.

"I am saying that it would be inevitable if we had not acted."

"What does that have to do with us or Hermione?" Alan reasoned.

"It is my regret to inform you that Hermione is directly involved with what we have done to protect the world from Voldemort's ambitions."

"What? I've heard all about this Lord Voldemort and what he's done. Hermione's a student and not yet eighteen. It is not her responsibility to fight evil wizards," Lydia spoke with growing horror.

"Wizarding age of majority is fifteen, Mum. Nor am I a student as I have passed the NEWTs. I agreed to help of my own free will. There was no other choice. Besides, I've been involved simply by the fact I'm muggleborn and Harry's friend."

"There are always other options, Hermione. Headmaster, I fail to see why my daughter had to be involved. You are supposed to be responsible for the wellbeing of my daughter!" Alan argued.

Hermione had to stifle smart retort. Her parents didn't really know all that had passed during her years at Hogwarts. They had been informed of some of her adventures but not all. They would have refused to let her continue at Hogwarts if they'd known. They were also ignorant of the special training she'd received with Ron and Harry and that she'd been on the front lines. She would spare them that knowledge if she could.

"Your daughter's part in this was essential. I know of no other who is as trusted and capable. Mr and Mrs Granger, I understand as a parent you wish to protect your daughter but it is her that must protect us."

"What exactly was done? And why was she chosen? Aren't there other witches that could have done it instead?" Lydia asked, struggling to understand.

"I will be happy to explain about Hermione's involvement but I must ask for your patience. To understand about your daughter's role, I must first tell you the story of a young boy who attended here at Hogwarts."

"A boy?" Lydia repeated with confusion.

"Yes, his name was Tom Marvolo Riddle."

The story might have been aimed at her parents, but Hermione recognized that it was for her benefit as well. For a moment Dumbledore's eyes met hers and she nodded to show he had her full attention. Hermione was aware that she and her friends knew more about Tom Riddle, or Voldemort, than most. Their knowledge was based on both firsthand experience and research. The information they had, however, wasn't very complete. Voldemort had gone to great lengths to obscure his past. Whatever the Headmaster would reveal would be very useful indeed.

Hermione had no idea how to approach and deal with Tom Riddle. Essentially, she was shackled to a man she knew nothing about. Last night she had been shell-shocked and hadn't really said anything to him. Today she wouldn't have that luxury. Hermione wasn't one to avoid her responsibilities and hiding wasn't an option. She was hoping that in what Dumbledore would tell her, would be some clue as to how to proceed with Tom.

"Tom was an orphan. His mother had been a witch who had married a muggle against the wishes of her family. She died in childbirth, not long after her husband cast her into the streets for being a witch. Her family abandoned Tom as surely as his father and so he was raised in a muggle orphanage. His years at the orphanage were harsh indeed. There he was condemned and reviled for his inborn gifts and brutally maltreated when they manifested. Despite this, he refused to be cowed. When he came to Hogwarts he had only his well honed cunning and determination to recommend him. Despite his lack of family or patronage he was sorted into Slytherin."

"Is this Tom one of Hermione's year mates?" Alan questioned.

"No. Tom's stay at Hogwarts began many years ago. During his time here he astounded his professors with his brilliance and charisma. His phenomenal talent silenced even those that had first sneered at his mixed blood. He eventually became Prefect and then Head Boy. When he left Hogwarts, he was fully expected to become a prevalent member of wizarding society. Instead, he was never heard of again. Or so we thought." Dumbledore recounted in an even tone.

"What happened to him?" Lydia asked softly.

"The boy, Tom, became Lord Voldemort."

"Voldemort!" Alan breathed in shock.

"Tom's fall to the Dark, is one of the wizarding world's greatest tragedies. Had he turned his abilities elsewhere..." Dumbledore sighed. "Now, the reason I've recounted Voldemort's history is because the boy he was, is now the boy he is."

"I'm sorry, Headmaster but we're just not following," Alan admitted, giving voice to the puzzlement he and his wife were feeling.

"As I have said, Voldemort's return was inevitable. My staff and I found no way to prevent it and so the next logical solution was to dictate exactly how he could come back. Instead of Voldemort returning at the height of his power, with extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts, instead he is eighteen and just beginning on the Dark path."

"You returned the boy and not the man. I didn't even know that was possible," Lydia spoke beginning to understand. "Isn't that a terrible risk? Who is to say that he won't continue with his plans?"

"It is Hermione that will insure that Tom's interests in the Dark Arts are curbed."

That statement launched the Grangers into stunned silence. Hermione winced a little at the series of expressions that passed over their features. Shock, anger and concern were foremost among them. Instead of being overcome by her own turmoil, Hermione instead felt strangely tired. Her parents were justifiably upset. They had just been told that their little girl was supposed to single-handedly confine a dangerous dark wizard. Put that way, it did sound ridiculous. 

"How is she supposed to do this?" Lydia asked after a moment.

"There was a special form of binding placed upon Tom. Hermione can now regulate his use of magic and he will not be able to move further than a mile from her. I shall also put into place a check-in system. If Tom... misbehaves, there the problems will be addressed."

"You did this willingly, Hermione?" Alan asked aghast.

"Voldemort can't be allowed to return, Dad," Hermione replied quietly.

"Honey, you're only just eighteen. You're barely an adult! This is a Dark wizard," Lydia objected.

Hermione felt a flare of anger. She might have just turned eighteen, but she was far from being a child. During the war she'd seen and experienced the gamut of human emotion. Elation, despair, suffering and hope were all unraveled before her in threads vibrant color. Adulthood had come early. Hermione wasn't foolish enough to think she'd seen and done it all, but childhood seemed so far away.

They had all been struggling in one way or another for so long. She deeply desired rest and respite from turmoil. With Voldemort's destruction, Hermione had been anticipating a lazy summer before beginning at Great Oaks. Now she had been catapulted into a battle of a very different sort. Sighing, Hermione wondered if it would develop into an all out war. The Headmaster's 'story' had been interesting but there had been no moment of epiphany for her. Riddle wasn't going to give up. What Dumbledore had said only reinforced that he would still be a very real threat. Tom Marvolo Riddle was both ambitious and motivated. He had already tried to charm her last night. Hermione really didn't want to get into a battle of wills with him. That Dumbledore seemed so confidant in her was equally reassuring and disturbing. 

Regardless of her own doubts, Hermione had made her choice. Her parents had always told her to take responsibility for her own decisions. That was precisely what she was doing. They just had to see that.

"I've stood by Harry and Ron to face Voldemort. I've played my part in the war. I've seen what Voldemort was capable of doing. I can't let him free to see it happen again. It was my decision," Hermione said softly but with a core of strength.

"No, Hermione, this can't be right. Dumbledore, this is ridiculous. There has to be someone other than our daughter!" Alan responded after a moment, blindly grasping at straws.

"I fear there wasn't. Even if we could have found someone else with the required attributes, the binding has been cast. It cannot be undone," Dumbledore explained carefully. "Your daughter has done a very great thing. Few would have accepted the duty laid upon her. She now needs your support and understanding."

"And she has it! No matter what may happen, we love our daughter. It is your part in this mess that we dislike. Regardless of Hermione being of majority in the wizarding world, it is your duty to protect your students! We've heard stories about Hermione's friend Harry. Are you in the habit of using children as shields?" Lydia burst forth.

"Mum!" Hermione gasped.

"It's true, Hermione, and you know it," Alan said. "We've said nothing believing that being Muggles we didn't fully appreciate the situation. Now I'm seeing I was incorrect."

"Mr and Mrs Granger," Dumbledore said standing. "You are correct."

There was a flummoxed pause as Hermione watched her parents struggle to find something to say in response. They were upset and afraid for her. She didn't blame them. As parents, they wanted to protect their child. What her parents had said was something she'd considered herself once or twice. Many times Dumbledore had placed Harry in harm's way. She too had been manipulated. She had, however, decided that Dumbledore did what he did for a reason. As nebulous a concept as the 'greater good' was, Dumbledore did work towards it and mostly it was better than the alternative. Her parents just had to see this was the path of less harm.

"My treatment of your daughter and Harry Potter hasn't always been in agreement with my duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Instead I have done my best to insure that there is a Hogwarts and students to be Headmaster of," Dumbledore continued and then sighed.

"Mum, Dad, this was my decision. I could have said no, but I didn't," Hermione coaxed. "The Headmaster had to ask."

"This is hard for us, Hermione. This isn't the life we'd seen for you. You had so many hopes and dreams. What about university? Didn't you have you eye on that wizarding place?" Lydia asked.

"Great Oaks *is* what I want and I'm still going. The only difference is that Tom Riddle will be going too. The Headmaster has made arrangements," Hermione reassured.

"You say that like it's nothing," Lydia said tightly. "How can you be so calm?"

"Lydia, she's being strong, just like we've taught her," Alan replied to his distraught wife. "We're proud of you, Hermione, even if it's not something we think you should have been involved with. I doubt our concerns can be put aside but I think we need to talk about what will happen in the near future."

"I'm glad you asked, Mr Granger," Dumbledore spoke up once again. "Being Hermione's family, you will play a part in Tom's binding."

"What part?" Lydia asked with a frown.

This time, Hermione winced. She was only just beginning to see the consequences her decision would have on her parents. When she'd agreed to the binding, she'd only thought of the impact it would make on her life. Conveniently, she'd forgotten that her parents would be directly involved. Even though she would be going to Great Oaks, Tom Riddle would be spending a significant amount of time with her family. Hermione felt decidedly uncomfortable about that. Her parents were muggles and Voldemort had made no bones about his hatred for muggles. Was this a catastrophe waiting to happen?

"There is a couple of months before Hermione is to go to Great Oaks. I assume she intended to spend that time at home?" Dumbledore began.

"Yes."

"Where your daughter goes, Tom Riddle is obliged to follow."

"He will be staying in our home?" Lydia said and sighed. "There is no option."

"Isn't that risky?" Alan interjected. "I know of the activities Voldemort and his followers got up to in the muggle world."

"The protections the Ministry and I erected about your home will insure you are safe. Nor will Tom be able to harm you through magic. That Hermione is muggleborn was considered a bonus when she was chosen. Tom's hatred for muggles was not without reason. He was treated very harshly as a boy by the muggles that oversaw the orphanage where he stayed," Dumbledore explained.

"You want us to become some kind of positive role model," Alan realized.

"I cannot say that it would be successful. Tom's hatred is deeply ingrained in him. The possibility that some of his hatred being ameliorated is not something I can ignore. Without his hatred motivating him, the threat is lessened."

Her parents looked at each other for a moment. Their wordless communication was so intense Hermione felt as if she was intruding on an intimate moment. She didn't want to argue with her parents. She wanted them to understand. Finally they both let their gazes drop. Their air of resignation was palpable. Hermione felt a spark of hope ignite.

"So... when do we meet this boy?" Lydia asked.


	4. Part 4

Part 4

The dried up prune of a woman that had been present the previous night had interrupted his slumber. Tom disliked mornings and he disliked this morning in particular. A return to consciousness meant a return to the dilemmas so recently thrust upon him. Under the old witch's direction, he'd dressed and awaited for her instructions. The pleasant exterior he tried to erect not at all mitigated the disdainful looks she gave him. To be so suddenly bereft of his old defenses was unsettling. Discarding the mask of the dutiful student had been something Tom had anticipated greatly. After leaving Hogwarts, he would be himself. He would be free. Now he was strongly wishing he could fall back to the familiar role.

Tom was finding that he was very vulnerable indeed. The illusion of virtue had served as an effective protection against suspicion during his years at Hogwarts. He had planned to only reveal himself as a Dark Wizard once he had increased his knowledge and solidified his control over his followers. Then, it would have been too late and no one would have dared to challenge him. Instead his ambitions and his true nature were now common knowledge. That vulnerability was something he would have to change very soon.

Dark Wizards were not tolerated in his day. Grindelwald had frightened too many people for the Ministry to be lenient. Tom suspected the current Ministry to be just as harsh. His older self's recent bid for power would make them all the more paranoid. That was the unsaid hold Dumbledore had over him. Should he do anything the old fool disliked, all Dumbledore had to do was leak a hint of his true identity to the Aurors. In this time, he had no influence, no power, no protection. If only the Ministry were the least of his concerns. Tom shook his head and returned his attention to the witch who was sorting through a stack of books.

"These books contain the recent history of the wizarding and muggle world. You should find it informative. It would be to your benefit if you studied these volumes," the old witch spoke as she finished with the books.

"I'll do so. Might I know your name?" Tom asked blandly.

"Minerva McGonagall. I'm the Deputy Headmistress, Professor or Transfiguration and Head of Gryffindor. You already know Albus but the other man was Severus Snape. He is Hogwart's Potions Master and Head of Slytherin. The three of us are the only staff members to know your... origins. If you need anything, approach one of us."

Tom carefully hid his surprise. The memory of a pretty, raven haired young woman flashed through his mind. Minerva McGonagall had been Head Girl when he had been a mere second year. It was disturbing to see someone he remembered as a young woman now advanced in her years. In the diary he'd known time passed. Indeed, it had been maddening. He had been locked into a state of constant limbo. By the time Virginia Weasley had written in his diary, he had begun to question his sanity. For all that he'd know time went by, he hadn't truly understood the implications. Tom felt strangely subdued. Maybe those books would be more important than he'd anticipated.

"And sweet little Virgina?" Tom asked, unable to help the sneer that had crept into his voice.

"You would be well advised to stay well away from Miss Weasley. She is not the girl you tormented. I will be briefing her of your existence after I am done here."

"But we were such friends," Tom mocked.

"Miss Weasley has been given advanced placement in the Auror training program for good reasons. Unless you wish to be hexed within an inch of your life, stay away from her," McGonagall snapped.

"Don't worry, I won't bother any of your precious Gryffindors. There are already far too many people who know who I am," Tom replied.

"Then you realize the precarious situation you find yourself in. None of those people will hesitate to take action should you misbehave," McGonnagal replied, her lips thinning with anger.

"Slytherins understand self-preservation, McGonagall. Now, is there anything else?"

"Yes. This is your wand and Gringott's vault key," McGonagall snapped, producing the first two items and then a third from the magically enhanced pockets of her robes. "This is the file detailing the particulars of your new identity. Albus has taken great care to make sure the Ministry will have no reason to suspect out of hand."

Again the threat was clear, but then, that was typical Gryffindor overkill. Tom had the strangest urge to roll his eyes. Instead he flipped open the file and scanned the first few documents. Tom read the information clearly presented in the various papers with curiosity. The information was perfectly accurate and true with the exception of the dates. It amused him that he had supposedly been privately tutored. That did, however, clear up any problems with a lack of records. He was pleased to see that Dumbledore had let his OWL and NEWT scores intact. When he perused his carefully faked birth certificate, he clenched his jaw. How he despised the 'halfblood' written in even bold calligraphy. Snapping the file shut, Tom nearly threw it onto the desk.

"Is there anything else?" Tom asked tightly.

"You are restricted to this suite unless accompanied by myself, Professor Snape or the Headmaster, until you are introduced to the school tomorrow morning. If you need anything, simply ask Miss Granger or summon one of the house elves," McGonagall replied in a tone that suggested dire consequences if he disobeyed.

In lieu of replying, Tom nodded and that seemed to satisfy the witch. She then made her swift exit. Alone, Tom eyed the pile of books on the desk. Knowledge was power and he refused to be ignorant. Systematically, he scanned over the volumes on wizarding and muggle history. The latter he did so with distaste but being chained to a mudblood, he'd need to know about recent events in the muggle world. Concentrating on the books was harder than Tom liked. Recent events kept rising from his memory to distract him. Closing the book he'd been reading he promised himself to over both sets of history books in greater depth later.

His long fingers rubbed discontentedly at his eyes. That girl would drive him mad. Of course, that was probably what Dumbledore had intended all along. It would be just like that petty meddler. Tom wondered if that Granger girl had any idea exactly how scheming her precious headmaster was. He'd watched that man rise to power during his student years. Dumbledore put most Slytherins to shame with his scheming. All the while he'd preserved his lily white exterior. Tom bared his teeth in distaste. Gryffindors were such hypocrites. That was perfectly illustrated by how he'd woken up naked and debauched next to a mudblood. 

He'd had plans for the power spike gained from the loss of his virginity. Slytherins were not ignorant of the power of sex magic like some of the other houses. Many happily utilized those ways to further themselves. Tom had refrained, not desiring it to distract him from his more important plans. Once free from Hogwarts he'd intended to learn from a Master of sex magic and begin the first steps towards immortality and his domination of the wizarding world.

Bitterly, Tom laughed. What a consolation prize he was given. It was almost disquieting how his thoughts came back to the Granger girl. He'd never admit it but that Potion Master's concoctions had worked well, almost disturbingly so. For a moment in time he'd been in love with the mudblood. Such a weakness was repulsive to him. His only comfort was that she was probably more upset by it than he was. She seemed the bookish, insulated type. Probably hadn't even been kissed, Tom thought with a sneer. That might be something worth using at some point. He might not have indulged in the pleasures of the flesh but he was not ignorant of his physical charms. Tom had charmed and flirted to his advantage many times. Of course, he'd have to be careful as using her in that way might become a little too tempting. Not that so simplistic a trap could ever catch him.

A little more confidant, Tom returned to his studies. While the books were dry the information they contained was fascinating. It was daunting how much had happened. The wizarding world tended to change slowly but it seemed he'd certainly made his mark upon it. It was quite gratifying. What did seem odd, were the number of wizarding families that had been destroyed during the war. Tom knew that one of the wizarding world's greatest weaknesses was that it was so small. There simply weren't that many wizards or witches. All too easily the muggle world could swallow them. To see so many ancient families gone bothered him. Surely his older self had his reasons, Tom assured himself and then pushed it from his mind. As for the muggle books... they seemed to focus on strange gadgets and people that had no meaning to him. Not that Tom expected much better. In his time, muggles were set on exterminating themselves. That would have been something he would have approved of had they not risked destroying the wizarding world along with them.

A short rap on the door followed by the reappearance of McGonagall's pinched face interrupted his reading. The soured woman halted a few feet away and dispassionately gazed at him for a moment. Tom wondered what would precipitate such observation. She seemed to be measuring him but for what he couldn't say.

"The Grangers have been briefed of your and Hermione's situation. They have requested to meet you. I expect you to be polite and respectful. Any rudeness and you will suffer the consequences."

So that was it. He was expected to play nice to a bunch of muggles. The sour woman obviously thought him incapable of it. Tom found it distasteful but charming the Grangers might be worth the effort.

"I am capable of being polite, Professor McGonagall."

The woman 'hrumph'ed and gestured for him to follow him. He did so and internally plotted exactly how he would deal with his muggle wardens. This meeting would set the tone of their future interactions. They potentially could restrict his movements more than the girl. That was something Tom needed to avoid.

* * *

Tom Riddle entered the room like a king on promenade. He fairly glittered with dignity and charm. Hermione restrained herself from snorting her disdain. She'd had enough of that from Draco Malfoy. She'd helped that particular Slytherin to a sticky end and she was beginning to regret she couldn't serve Riddle the same fate. Underneath her disdain was a small trickle of fear. Would her parents fall for his copious charm and undeniable charisma? Tom Riddle had an intensity about him that could neither ignored nor discounted. Even knowing who he'd been, Hermione felt pulled towards him. That force of personality had been what made Voldemort so dangerous. He had commanded some of the most powerful and arrogant wizards and witches in the magical world with disheartening ease. What would two more muggles be?

Of course, she was selling her parents short. 

"Tom Riddle, please meet your hosts. These are Drs Lydia and Alan Granger," Dumbledor spoke, his eyes twinkling.

When her mother was introduced as Dr Granger, Riddle's eyebrows went crawling into his hairline. The strange look he'd given her mother had set her lips into a stern line. Hermione knew only too well how her mother hated being overlooked or dismissed simply because she was female. Lydia Granger had worked very hard to be one of the best in her field and even harder to gain the respect of her colleagues. She certainly didn't like being near dismissed by a boy. The magical world was far more progressive than the muggle world in regards to women's rights but there were still prejudices, particularly in muggleborns. Privately, Hermione chuckled to herself. Tom was certainly a product of his times and she would enjoy his discomfort.

"Pleased to meet the both of you," Tom replied somewhat stiffly.

Her father was not particularly impressed with Tom's reaction but shook his hand politely enough. For tense moment, Hermione held her breath as her father hit Riddle with a heavy gaze. Finally her father nodded and released the young wizard's hand. What her father had seen, she didn't know. Hermione desperately wanted to ask but knew that it wasn't the time. The set of Riddle's shoulders was tenser than they had been when he'd first walked into the room. Something had obviously passed between the men.

"So... what do you plan to do as university? Hermione plans to learn more about runes," Lydia asked into the sudden silence.

"I'm afraid my plan of studies was recently scrapped. What I'll be studying, I don't know," Tom smoothly replied.

"I suppose that's true, Twin Oaks doesn't teach your first choice of study," Hermione said cattily, before she could help herself.

"Hmm, and what do you suggest, Muggle Studies?" Tom countered with a tinge of venom.

"They really offer university level courses in non-magical life?" her father interrupted.

"Some wizards and witches don't know much about muggle life, let alone respect it," Hermione replied tightly.

Riddle instantly caught the double meaning of her words. His face turned ridged with restrained rage. Hermione felt her jaw clench. She wanted to curse off the smirk that seemed to be permanently fixed on his face. Long pale fingers extended and twitched in a manner that Hermione was familiar with. Voldemort had used that same unconscious gesture just before he went for his wand. Hermione's hand lunged for her wand. Sensing her movement, Riddle mirrored her movements. Before she had withdrawn her wand halfway from her sleeve, her body locked and froze in place. Riddle was likewise petrified.

"That is enough," Dumbledore thundered. "I am greatly disappointed in the both of you. Barely a moment in each other's presence and you are arguing to the point of dueling. I dare say that such actions will only serve to make your lives miserable. Do you really wish to spend the rest of your days dueling?"

Neither of them could say or do anything but Hermione felt contrite. Hadn't she resolved to keep the peace? Amid the stress of Tom Riddle meeting her parents and the left over shock from the previous night, her temper had been all too easy to spark. He'd been an all too easy and willing a target for her frustration. Uncomfortably, she met his gaze. Hermione read the frustration and oddly enough, embarrassment on his face. The less charitable part of her cheered at his discomfort but Hermione forced herself to push such thoughts away.

"Now, I'm going to release the spell. I hope that both of you have come to your senses? An apology would not be amiss."

The spell released and Hermione cautiously returned her want to its place. She glanced towards her parents and winced. They were clearly alarmed and baffled. Dressed in proper professional muggle suits, they were out of place in Dumbledore's office that was cluttered with magical devices and oddities. Hermione realized that they probably hadn't understood the hidden meanings to their hasty words. This was also one of the few times they'd seen magic in action. Flashing them a smile to reassure them, she looked back at Riddle. His wand had also disappeared. Taking a breath, Hermione stepped forward and offered her hand.

"I apologize for my hasty words," Hermione said uncomfortably but not untruthfully.

"As do I," not to be outdone, Tom replied with enough discomfort that Hermione believed him.

Their hands met and Hermione felt a shock. Long cool fingers clasped hers, soft flesh pressed against soft flesh. In response to the shock, her body ached with a pang of desire. Her breath quickened almost imperceptibly. What part of her brain that hadn't been surprised by the sudden rush of sensation, realized it was probably a side effect from the binding. The young wizard, whose hand still clasped hers, was momentarily frozen in shock. His eyes had widened and had locked with hers. Those dark orbs were a flat pool of black like a forest pond at midnight. Absently, Hermione mused that she'd have to move far closer to see the flakes of crimson that peppered them. Abruptly, Hermione realized she was staring. Riddle seemed to come to the same conclusion as spots of color appeared on his pale cheeks. Hurriedly they dropped their handclasp.

"Good, good," the headmaster announced.

Unease prickled her skin into goose bumps. Dumbledore's words seemed to be shaded with deeper meanings than Hermione could fathom. Straightening her robes and letting her fingers smooth over her wand for reassurance, Hermione turned back to her parents. Had she been alone with them, she didn't doubt they'd pelt her with questions. Whatever first impression she had wanted to make on them in such trying circumstances, this was not it. Instead she'd nearly launched into a full-scale duel in front of them.

"I'm sorry, Mum, Dad," Hermione spoke awkwardly.

"Well, I won't pretend to understand what happened, Hermione," Alan reproved. "But such violence won't be tolerated. You and Tom will have to learn to restrain your tempers as Dumbledore said."

"I'm sure we'll manage," Riddle replied with an innocent smile.

"Perhaps we should get back to discussing the practical arrangements for this summer?" Lydia suggested, seeing Hermione's eyes narrow slightly.

"Yes, is there anything that needs to be done in the magical world before you come to live with us, Tom?" Alan asked.

"Not that I'm aware of. I would like the opportunity to visit Diagon Alley to pick up some reading material," Tom requested.

"Certainly! We can hardly tear Hermione away from the bookstore during the summer. I'm sure we can organize to visit on the way back from the train station," Lydia assured the young man.

Hermione flushed at the comment. Her cheeks reddened with a mix of pride and embarrassment. The hot flush of blood pricked at her cheeks like thousands of minute needles. Flourish and Blott's was nearly a second home during the summer months. She had become such a regular that she was on good terms with the staff and they reserved her copies of books she might be interested in. Mister Blott himself had even promised her a job during the summer. While she was proud of her voracious reading habits, her mother's comment made her sound like she was nothing more than an oblivious schoolgirl who couldn't see beyond whatever book she had her nose stuck in, let alone the big picture. This was an image that she had fought against all through her time at Hogwarts.

"I suppose you'll probably need all manner of clothes too. I'll make sure we have the essentials by the time you and Hermione arrive on the Express. Clothes you'll have to buy yourself. I know better than to try and buy clothes for a teenager," Alan said and winked at Hermione.

"Dad! I'm certainly not that fussy," Hermione replied in her defense.

"She has you there, Alan. Our Hermione is by far the most sensible girl of her age I know. Tom, I know this is upsetting and abrupt but I want you to feel welcome in our home," Lydia spoke.

"Thank you, ma'am," Tom replied. "I appreciate you opening your home to a stranger."

"Yes, well, I am sure we'll remedy the stranger part," Lydia smiled. "Just try to get along with my daughter. I suspect you're both headstrong and stubborn so it won't be easy. Perhaps Hermione can help you decide what you'd like to do at Twin Oaks. I'm sure she still has all the brochures."

The suggestion her mother made was not a suggestion at all. Hermione felt her lips thin. She wanted nothing more to do with Tom Riddle than what she had to. Their tentative truce probably wouldn't hold if they were forced to put it to a serious test. Even when it had been beneficial for them to keep up a front of pleasant neutrality they'd come close to hexing each other into oblivion. Still, they had to come to terms with their situation soon.

Tomorrow they would be facing the whole school. Hermione knew it would look rather odd if she started a duel with Hogwart's new independent researcher whom she wasn't supposed to know. Suspicion was something they would actively have to avoid. Hermione winced. She realized she'd already started to think of herself and Riddle as a unit. While she had been absorbed in her thoughts, Tom had responded. Now her parents were making polite good-byes. A feeling of light panic fluttered through her and Hermione suddenly wished she could fly into her parents arms and hide there, ignoring Hogwarts, Tom and everything else. That was not to be. She wasn't a child anymore.

"Good-bye, Mum," Hermione said as she was embraced.

After their parting words were said, her parents were escorted out of the Headmaster's office. Professor McGonnagal appeared again and led Tom away. Hermione was left facing the ever-twinkling eyes of the Headmaster. Curiously Hermione settled back into the seat that Dumbledore waved her into. What was it that he required?

"Now that your parents have been informed, there are a few matters that need to be cleared up. Minerva has already provided Mr Riddle with a copy of his manufactured identity and other pertinent details. You'll need to ask him for a copy. I suggest that you read it and familiarize yourself with its contents."

"I will, Headmaster," Hermione replied.

"Excellent, Miss Granger. While that folder deals with Tom's present, this file deals with his past," Dumbledore spoke as he produced a thick file which he handed to Hermione. "This file includes Tom's school records and all the information we have regarding his rise as Voldemort. As I'm sure you've guessed, it contains information not known to the public. I suggest you destroy it when you are done. It would also be best not to show it to Mr Riddle."

"I assume the file could help him follow his older self's path?" Hermione asked looking down at the file.

"Potentially."

That was all the headmaster was clearly willing to say. Hermione resolved to go through the file as soon as she could. Dumbledore seemed to want her to make her own judgement. That made her all the more curious as to what the file contained. It crinkled enticingly with the sound of old parchment and clippings from newspapers. The file might give her the edge she greatly needed. Dumbledore probably knew she felt horribly unprepared for the task he wanted her to fulfil. Even if the file didn't give her any useful information, it would make her feel better. The headmaster probably knew that too. Resisting the urge to flip through the file, Hermione considered her next question.

"Headmaster, you said we would need to learn how to use or operate the bond. When will we do that?"

"Ah, yes, it has been organized for you to become an animagus."

"But I'm already an animagus," Hermione replied with a frown.

"That is exactly right. During the time you are supposed to be taking lessons on becoming an animagus, Minerva and I will be aiding yourself and young Mr Riddle in how to use the bond. You will spend time each day until you are both proficient."

"Thank you, sir. I suppose I'll have to look up blood bonds as well since that is our explanation for our close company."

"Good idea, particularly when wizarding law will now regard you as one," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle of his eyes.

"What?! I-I mean, sir, what do you mean by 'one'," Hermione stuttered.

"Now, now, it's just a formality. The ministry views those who are blood bonded as legally a single unit. What affects one will affect the other."

"There are different levels of bond-" Hermione began.

"I understand your reluctance, Miss Granger but the bond has been already filed. According to the Ministry you have an 'A' class bond."

Hermione winced at Dumbledore's firm tone. Once again he'd out manuvered her. Hermione was beginning to feel a sour resentment towards the elderly wizard. Instead of wallowing in her resentment, she concentrated on her knowledge of blood bonds. Most of her knowledge had come from her 'light reading'. In charms and DADA they'd only been mentioned in passing.

According to what she'd read, there were four kinds of blood bonds. Each level had certain functions within wizarding society but some were more common than others. The most usual bonds were D level bonds. Although they were blood magic they were harmless and flimsy. Children often swore friendship by pricking their fingers and pressing them together. The highest class was virtually unheard of. There had been two in the past century. It was used between sworn companions or those owing a lifedebt to another. The second highest were often used in legal matters of great importance such as betrothals between old magical families. Promises and vows between magical individuals could be sealed with blood to create a C level bond.

While Hermione was versed in the types of blood bond, she hadn't researched the practical implications. Somewhat disturbed by the headmaster's insistence in claiming a blood bond of the highest level, Hermione hunkered down in her chair. Was her insistence on as much distance as possible between herself and Tom an exercise in futility? No, she refused to believe it. The situation might be difficult to navigate but she could do it and come out with privacy and life intact.

"I see," Hermione replied, although they both knew she didn't. "Is there anything else that I should know?"

"Not that I can think of. Minerva and I will brief to your friends but I thought that I should ask you if you would like to be in attendance," Dumbledore said.

Hermione felt her stomach turn at the thought of another tension filled meeting. It might not have been very Gryffindor of her, but she didn't think she could endure the horrified reactions of her friends. Of Harry, Ron and Ginny, Hermione could only guess at one of their reactions. Without a doubt, Ron's temper would blow up and it would take quite a bit of effort to get him to see reason. Harry... well he thought he'd gotten rid of his nemesis permanently. Finding out Voldemort was still alive, albeit in a different form, would be hard for him to cope with. Ginny's reaction was the hardest for Hermione to predict. Hermione knew that her experiences with Tom Riddle had changed her in fundamental ways. It was to Ginny's credit that she had used those experiences to strengthen herself. Still, that was a far cry from having to have a living reminder thrust into her face.

"I think I will decline," Hermione said with unnecessary formality.

"Very well. Why don't you return to your rooms. I'll send someone to tell you what happened, once I've met with your companions."

With that, Hermione gratefully left the Headmaster's office. Thankfully, the corridors were abandoned with students busy in classes. Without the distraction of bustling crowds, Hermione quickly found herself outside the portrait that led to the Head Girl and Boy rooms. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd jumped from the cauldron into the fire.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Lydia Granger sat down with a sigh in her favorite armchair. Her husband gingerly sat down on the sofa closest to her. Lydia knew he was expecting her to air the worry and concern they were both feeling but she wasn't sure if she had the energy. Two magical journeys through fireplaces had just about done her in. On top of that she was having a hard time digesting what they had been told. Compromising, she extended her hand and Alan grasped it comfortingly. In a silence that was suddenly far more contented, they ordered their thoughts.

"What did you think of the boy?" Lydia began.

"Polite. He was almost too polite."

That summed up her opinion on the matter too. She'd gained very little solid knowledge of Tom Riddle from the pleasant and utterly fake façade he'd erected. It had been disturbing how mild and pleasant he'd been. Well, with the exception of that terrifying moment when Lydia thought Hermione and Tom would come to blows. Under her daughter's careful needling, Lydia had seen something else in Tom's character. It was something that called out her parenting instincts out in full.

"Yes, but what about when he and Hermione... argued?" Lydia prodded.

"I'm not sure what to think about that. The boy has issues, Lydia, I could tell that without that lovely history lesson that Dumbledore chap gave."

"From the sound of things his upbringing was borderline abusive."

"Well, you don't grow up planning to become a Dark Lord if your past is all roses," Alan sighed.

"Given what we know of Voldemort, this won't be easy. He hates muggles. I can't imagine being forced to live here will endear us to him."

"I'll be damned if I know why that batty Headmaster implied we can do something about that. This isn't a reform school," Alan grumbled.

"Therapy is out of the question. I doubt we'd ever be able to get the boy there. I'm sure he would be offended by the suggestion. Besides, do wizards have psychologists?"

"Not any that we could trust. Dumbledore was clear that Riddle could not be revealed as being Voldemort in his youth."

"Then we'll have to do what we can. I'll check the library for books of troubled youths on the way home. You can check out the bookstore," Lydia sighed.

"Better than nothing, I suppose."

Lydia met her husband's eyes. Reassurance mixed with the heavy understanding of just how precarious their position was, radiated from his gaze. This was a task they weren't prepared for at all. Although they had done their best to learn about the wizarding world, Lydia would be the first to say they were still very ignorant about its daily workings. Even if they were born and raised in the wizarding world, Lydia doubted they would be ready to cope with a boy who was, according to what they'd heard, borderline psychopathic. The worst thing was that they couldn't even protect their daughter.

"I just don't like that Hermione is involved at all," Lydia said, giving form to her thoughts. "She's grown up so much but Hermione is still very young, regardless of what she says. The Headmaster all but admitted he was more than willing to barter away Hermione's life."

"We'll be around to look after her. Accepting the boy is the right thing to do but I'm not going to give him free rein to hurt our little girl."

"That innocent façade of his will crack sometime, Alan. I just hope we can deal with it."

"Are you expecting an explosion?" Alan asked with concern.

"I think there could be one- both literally and figuratively. I can see the tension between Tom and Hermione. That isn't going to go away. Dumbledore isn't telling us everything."

"Hmmm, then we agree on that. Let us just hope it's not something that will come back to haunt us."

After the close of her first year, Ginny Weasley had spent her life waiting for the other shoe to drop. She had gotten away from the diary all too easily for her own peace of mind. Although she dreaded it, Ginny had also begun to hunger for the conclusion to what had been one of the most difficult episodes in her life. What Dumbledore had told them was everything Ginny had been waiting for. For if Tom Marvolo Riddle returned then she could look him in the eye and know he no longer had the power hurt her. When Dumbledore had oh-so-gently told them what had happened, Ginny had felt a fuzzy ball of satisfaction well up in the pit of her stomach. It was true what her mother told her; what went around, came around. Ginny couldn't think of anything that would irk Tom more than being forever bound to a muggleborn. The only thing that tainted her pleasure was that he was bound to her best female friend.

A frown knotted on her forehead. Ginny was no stranger to Tom's wicked nature and she knew just how insidious he could be. Of course, in the diary Tom had nothing to lose. Had his plans succeeded and he had managed to take on the semblance of life, he would have rallied the Death Eaters and perhaps even join with his older self. Now his older self was gone and the Death Eaters all but dead. That made Tom's position very precarious. Would that be enough to protect Hermione? Ginny shuddered with pained sympathy. Beside her Harry's voice raised in argument.

"...deserves peace! We've been fighting since fifth year and now she's shackled to that maniac," Harry blustered.

Harry's temper had come under better control over the years but control had clearly deserted him this time. Ginny sighed. Dumbledore would always do what he thought he must and Harry was foolish to think the Headmaster would change. They had repaired the trust between them during Harry's sixth year but Ginny wondered if this was enough to break it for good. Hermione was clever and perceptive. No one would deny that she was mature enough to handle such a responsibility but Ginny didn't think that was only reason Hermione had been selected.

"I know the sacrifices that all of you have made, Harry. As much as we all would have enjoyed time to recover, it was impossible."

"There are ways, Headmaster. We both know you could have held Voldemort's soul for at least a full moon's cycle!"

"Those methods are dark magic and you know I will not turn to such methods," Dumbledore chided.

"Because you don't want to dirty your hands!" Harry replied hotly.

"No, Harry. If we use dark magic then we become the very thing we are fighting against."

Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She might have applauded the Headmaster's steadfast principles if he were a little more consistent in applying them. What had been done to Hermione was hardly pure light magic. She had also sensed there was something that Dumbledore wasn't telling them about the binding. That was something she'd have to weasel out of Hermione. Ginny guessed that her friend probably needed someone to confide in. Then there was the matter of rubbing certain things in Tom's face. She was honest enough to admit she'd enjoy that.

Personal revenge would wait, though. Ginny's first priority was helping her friend. Tom wouldn't just give up on all his plans. He was stubborn and intelligent enough to be a problem. If there was anything Ginny could do to help her friend, she would do it. Her experiences with Tom Riddle weren't pleasant but she had come to admit that it had given her a perspective on Voldemort that she wouldn't have had otherwise. After all, the best lies were woven into a fabric of truth and Tom lied very well.

Tom Riddle had thought of her as disposable. Once he regained his body, she would be dead. Anything he might have told her would not matter. Of course that wasn't how things had happened. Ginny had survived and remembered everything he'd told her. It had taken nearly three years before she gained the courage to really examine the poison he'd dripped into her ear but she had.

Ginny knew his weaknesses and soon so would Hermione.

"... I hope you'll stand by Hermione and see that she adapts to her new circumstances as best she can."

Another meaningless sentiment from Dumbledore, Ginny thought with ennui. Ginny wanted to screw her face up in disdain but she didn't want to draw attention her way. Naturally Harry reacted with affronted pride at the suggestion he wouldn't stand by his friend of seven years. The confrontation was really ridiculous. Ginny doubted that Dumbledore ever thought Hermione would be socially exiled by what had happened. Sure, none of them would like that Hermione had been stuck with Tom but they'd not desert her.

"Headmaster, can we go see Hermione?" Ginny finally asked.

"I understand that you are concerned about your friend but it would be best to give both Hermione and Tom time to become accustomed to their new situation. Tomorrow I'm sure Hermione would be happy to see you."

That was a polite but definite no. Harry's anger simmered down to churlishness as Dumbledore concluded their conversation by offering them a lemon drop. Ginny wanted to argue or to somehow make Dumbledore understand how much they both needed to see Hermione. Instead she swallowed her protests and followed Harry down the staircase.

Once outside of the Headmaster's office, Harry sighed and his shoulders slumped. Ginny felt her heart go out to him. He'd had two very unpleasant shocks. It couldn't be easy for Harry to accept Voldemort wasn't dead and gone. They had all sacrificed so much and it was for nothing. Furthermore, Hermione was now the one shouldering the burden. Tom didn't deserve the second chance that he'd been given and certainly not at such a high cost.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"It's supposed to be over, Ginny!" Harry cried out with a mix of bafflement and hurt. "That was what the prophecy said. We won and it we were supposed to be free!"

"I'm sorry," Ginny repeated not knowing what else to say.

"It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. Dumbledore doesn't know when to stop meddling. There were other ways, Ginny, no matter how much he might want to pretend otherwise!" Harry growled.

Ginny found it difficult to refute this argument. They were all the things that she agreed with. Harry's eyes were wide and riddled with anguish. As much as Ginny wanted to swear and wail at the injustice of Tom's return and Hermione being forced to deal with him, she couldn't. In the past few days they had seen far too much pain and suffering. That had been on top of three years from hell. She was tired, Harry was tired... everyone was tired including Dumbledore. The idea of another war was inconceivable. She understood all too well how Dumbledore could make such a choice.

"Were there? Dumbledore could have done it but would it be safe? There are still Death Eaters out there. What if they stole the gem or whatever vessel that held Voldemort's soul? It would be the dairy all over again," Ginny argued gently while disliking having to take Dumbledore's side.

"I know... I know. But it's Hermione. How could he ask that of her? What if that bastard-"

"Harry, don't start. If you start worrying there'll be no end to it. Do you really think I don't know how dangerous Tom can be? We'll be here for her, like you said."

"I thought this was over!" Harry echoed, his voice cracking.

"I wanted it to be over, too," Ginny said softly.

Their eyes met and held for a moment. They both understood the wealth of pain behind what they had said without having to say it. Harry wrapped an arm about her shoulders and they plodded to the Gryffindor common room. Dumbledore had left them the pleasant task of explaining to Ron. Ginny wondered how many shades of red Ron's face would turn.

The fire made light play over his complexion in tones of brandy and cream. Elegant hands clasped a heavy book pausing midway in turning a page as she stepped through the portrait hole. Even if the portrait had not swept aside with an audible creak, he would have noticed her presence. This was an encounter they were both anticipating. Or perhaps dreading. They had made a truce of sorts in the Headmaster's office but here, away from the sight of their betters, would be where it would succeed or fail. The opening gambits she'd planned seemed lacking as she stood uncomfortably in the entrance. Either they seemed moralistic, arrogant or just too long winded. Finally, Hermione settled on nervously making her way to the chair that sat across from Riddle. He watched her intently but without hostility.

"So... has the Head Boy's room changed much since you were there last?"

"Not much. Small things: the desk chair, the curtains on the bed."

Silence fell and Hermione found herself grow more discouraged. It seemed that Tom Riddle had become more verbose as he aged. At least he had responded to her inquiry. Had he not replied, Hermione would probably have hexed him out of sheer frustration. Just as she was going to try to launch another frivolous question, Riddle neatly closed his book and placed it on the side table.

"I suppose it is gratifying to see that you don't know how to go about this any more than I do."

For a moment, Hermione bristled but then she relaxed when she realized he wasn't insulting her. She would never get through this if she was reacting like a nervy cat! If anything, his comment had been an admission of his own ignorance. Already she knew that Riddle was extremely proud. It would not have been easy for him to be so straightforward about such things. Indeed, what he had done was downright remarkable for a Slytherin.

Hermione wondered if it was some form of peace offering. Or was it a ploy to lull her into false sense of security? Internally, Hermione shook her head. Such doubts were useless. Even if with Slytherins you always had to wonder.

"No, I don't," Hermione admitted.

"Then maybe you should begin by telling me exactly what you thought you were agreeing to," Riddle said in a cold voice.

"What I agreed to wasn't-," Hermione started to snap at the reference to their rude awakening after the bond had been created. "You heard what Dumbledore said. I barely knew more than you did. Don't bait me."

"Really? I seem to remember that you were given the luxury of a choice."

"An uninformed choice, which is no real choice at all. Not that any of this matters now!" Hermione retorted.

"Doesn't it? No, I suppose not," Riddle replied angrily, although his anger wasn't directed at Hermione this time.

He wanted to rage and make sure his displeasure at the world was well noted. Tom always knew he had a bad temper but the situation he found himself in was pushing it to new limits. First he'd woken up in bed with a mudblood. Then Dumbledore had neatly explained the terms of his slavery. Today he'd had to smile and make nice to a couple of muggles. The muggle woman had been introduced as a doctor of all things, although in Tom's opinion the scandalous length of her skirt had hinted at a very different profession.

His life had passed beyond his control and he couldn't see a way out. Lack of control had always been something he detested. The girl in front of him held the keys to his life. It was strange how she was his jailor but also possibly his only ally. To Tom, it was clear that if he wanted any measure of control, then he would have to control the Granger girl. The first step would be winning her over.

In Dumbledore's office he hadn't done a good job at charming her. Instead, they had very nearly traded blows. Tom was appalled at his slip but was beginning to wonder if he could turn it to his advantage. Even Granger would have to be sympathetic to someone who had their life turned on its ear. A certain level of resentment would even be expected. Maybe he'd have to play the part of 'maiden in distress' but Granger's Gryffindor tendencies would set her up very nicely to play the 'knight gallant'.

"Look, there isn't an easy solution to this," Hermione ventured.

"I don't think you realize how this has affected me. Everything I had hoped and dreamed has been turned to ashes. I was meant for great things, Granger, and now I'm Dumbledore's pet," Tom replied with unfeigned bitterness.

"I sympathize, I really do, even if I don't agree with what you would have done with your life. Don't you realize that my life has been disrupted too?" Hermione retorted. "Besides, you made your choices as Lord Voldemort. This situation is the direct result of those choices."

"How convenient an excuse. You do realize I'm being punished for things I don't even remember doing?"

"What about Myrtel, Tom? Do you remember her? How about Ginny? Or all the muggleborns you would have killed if your little plot had worked?"

"I never said I hadn't been a bad boy, Granger."

"Fine, then we should stop talking in circles. Tomorrow Dumbledore will introduce you to the school. We need to look at the file Dumbledore gave you about your new identity and work out the details," Hermione replied flatly, not at all impressed with the purr in his voice.

Riddle held her gaze for a moment before sullenly nodding.

Uncomfortably, Hermione sat down on a chair beside the one that Tom had monopolized. They said little as Hermione read the file. Hermione gathered that Riddle had already gone through it before she had entered. The file that Dumbledore had given Tom was surprisingly complete. This was something Hermione felt she should have expected. Dumbledore had always been thorough in all his plots and he had the leverage at the Ministry to see that the false documents could not be discovered as such.

The contents proclaimed Tom Marvolo Riddle as being an orphan after his parents had died in a car crash. Having read that, Hermione hid her smile. Harry had confided in her that was what the Dursleys had told him about his parents' death. Clearly Dumbledore's quirky sense of humor had struck. After his parent's death, Tom lived with his wizard grandfather who educated him at home. The phony grandfather had recently died of natural, age related causes.

Hermione felt her eyebrows jump when she read that Tom Riddle had supposedly helped the Order of the Phoenix with research. That was clearly an attempt at throwing suspicion away from Tom's sudden appearance. Order members had achieved some acclaim for not only their part in the final battle but standing against Voldemort before the Ministry had publicly admitted he was back. Public sentiment was that they were beyond reproach. This was something that Hermione realized was advantageous for hiding Riddle's true past but she couldn't help but feel that such a lie was an insult to the many sacrifices Order members had made. With conflicted feelings, Hermione closed the file and handed it back to Riddle.

"Have you any ideas as to how to fill in the holes? I mean, there really needs to be an explanation as to why you weren't at the final battle. Not to mention why and how we forged the bond," Hermione asked.

"Considering I lack any knowledge about my older self's defeat and the events surrounding it, I can hardly offer an opinion."

Hermione blushed in embarrassment. He was right. The only memories he had were of his years at Hogwarts. Even if he did have all of Voldemort's memories, he couldn't possibly know of events as they unfolded for the Order. That she had made such a fundamental oversight only went to show how unsettled she was. Gathering herself, she began again.

"What do you know of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Phoenix... I assume that refers to Dumbledore's familiar? I also assume he was involved in it up to his bushy eyebrows."

While her nose wrinkled at Riddle's dry, sneering tone, she couldn't deny his words. Quickly Hermione sketched out a brief history of the Order and Voldemort's defeat. She also gave some information on those who made up the more public members. Those she knew played a more shadowy role, she did not mention. Voldemort had not hesitated to interrogate the Order members he had captured. As a result the certain individuals and groups within the Order were only known to Dumbledore. Even now there would be repercussions for some if they were revealed to have been Order members. Hermione knew all too well how quickly public adulation could turn into public condemnation.

"What was your role in Dumbledore's pet project?" Riddle asked.

"Publicly I was well known as Harry's friend and fellow Order member. Harry, Ron and I became part of the Order in our sixth year. Privately, I worked on spell research and enchantment. I worked on adapting ancient magic and researched with Professors Snape, Flitwick and Dumbledore the magics your older self used on himself. I also took part in the final battle."

"So then I did achieve immortality," Tom said softly.

"No... not exactly," Hermione argued, goose-bumps rising at Tom's wondering and almost reverent tone. "Voldemort succeeded in keeping his soul and memories when disembodied but he wasn't immortal. When disembodied, he was little more than a parasite, reliant on a host body until he fashioned himself a new one. The spell we created worked by unraveling the numerous spells and potions that Voldemort used to create his new body. It was also meant to undo the magic that allowed Voldemort to exist disembodied but since you're here, I suspect that part of the spell it didn't fully work."

"You helped Dumbledore? And what exactly could a pathetic little mudblood tramp like you contribute?"

The sudden poison leaking off his tongue was somewhat unexpected. Hermione had though they were making headway with their truce. Yet, even as Riddle spoke, Hermione knew exactly where those bitter words stemmed from. Understanding spread like dark and sticky syrup, over her chaotic thoughts. Like a mistreated animal he had struck out at her in anticipation of blow. He'd also struck to hide the vulnerability her recounting his older self's demise had created. In a strange way Tom Riddle idolized his older self. Lord Voldemort was everything that unwanted, impoverished and orphaned Tom Riddle wasn't. She knew why he had reacted that way... but in the heat of the moment it didn't seem to matter. The assault upon her pride had an immediate reaction.

Her hand jumped out to smack the smug, satisfied look right off Riddle's face. The blow never landed. He neatly grabbed her wrist, halting what would have been the most satisfying moment of her life. Enraged, Hermione tugged against the restraining hold to free herself. Much to her dismay, Riddle also tugged and did so far more effectively. With a calculated yank, he pulled her off balance. Using the momentum from her tumble, he twirled her around pinning her neatly against his chest.

Startled by the undignified turn of events, Hermione's anger fizzled out of being. She was left with a hyperawareness of the body pressed hers. Heat from his chest seemed to sink into her flesh. She could feel as his ribcage expanded and contracted with each breath. Her own respiration drew in his strangely bitter and musky scent. Again she was reminded of coffee and sandalwood. The soft caress of his breath fanned her cheek and shoulder. Horrified at her sudden catalogue of sensation, Hermione jerked away. This time he did not stop her.

Red cheeked, Hermione looked anywhere but at Tom. She didn't want to analyze why she was so flushed. She was certain it was from the struggle and nothing else. Thoughts of how she had tried to slap him sent a new wave of red to her face. She'd never before been prone to blushing but apparently Riddle was slowly changing that for her.

Hermione didn't like how easily he had subdued her. It made her painfully aware of that while she might be able to magically restrain him, Riddle easily outmatched her physically. The last time she had physically struck out at someone during an argument it had been Draco Malfoy back in third year. That had ended amazingly well, with Malfoy goggling at her audacity. Of course, Malfoy had held the typical pureblood view on physical violence- that it was the realm of muggles and peasants. He'd also been a spoiled, skinny, pointy faced ferret then. With puberty females lost any physical advantage. Not only was Riddle physically superior to her, he'd probably participated in more than one boyhood scuffle at the muggle orphanage he'd grown up in. She had acted foolishly and had been duly defeated.

"I'll give you the Twin Oaks brochures for you to look at. Return them when you're done," Hermione replied stiffly, gathering up her tattered dignity.

Riddle did nothing to acknowledge that he heard her or cared about what she'd said. Hermione counted her blessings. It was only her pride that allowed her to exit the room with her head held high. Maybe retreating wasn't very Gryffindorish but she was tired of fighting and tired of acting so foolishly in front of the teen version of Voldemort. She had not idea why he put her on edge so easily. She was constantly putting her foot in her mouth or misjudging things. That wasn't pleasant when she was the one to prevent Harry or Ron from doing just that.

Once in the privacy of her room she flung herself on her bed and took a few deep breaths. When her embarrassment retreated to manageable levels, she pulled out the prospectus and various other articles of interest she had collected about Twin Oaks. Just looking at them seemed to center her. She was Hermione Granger, brightest witch in many generations and hero of the last battle. If she had helped Harry kick Voldemort's geriatric arse, she could certainly manage the snotty teenage version.

Tom remained frozen for many moments after the fiery witch left the room. He was positively shocked by the unexpected way things had turned out. When he'd grabbed the girl he'd wanted to humiliate her into submission, to force her to acknowledge his superiority. Instead he'd found himself responding to the girl's nearness. It was disgusting. Not the hormonal response- he was a teenage boy after all, but the fact he had no control over it. He had learned to control or, failing that, to ignore such urges. The base desires of the flesh were nothing to his pursuit of power. This was different. Tom snorted with disgust. No doubt the girl had experienced something similar. He doubted that she realized what caused it. It was the bond, of course.

What Dumbledore had placed upon them was a marriage bond. It made sense that it would 'encourage' physical contact. Tom had been told about the renewal of the bond and he had doubted it would end there. The consequences of such things were rarely so simple, particularly when it was founded on dubious consent.

Well, he'd been right but Tom was far from pleased about it. But then... perhaps he could use that. By Granger's red face, Tom doubted she had guessed what had caused such a reaction. She had probably thought it was her. Although he disliked the possibility of further intimacy with the mudblood, seduction, at least in some form, might produce the results he wanted. If he played it right, Tom considered, he might not even have to become intimate with her.

So... he would be the coy maiden in distress and play the Gryffindor mudblood for all she was worth. It would be sweet revenge for Dumbledore to watch as he subverted his precious witch. Besides, who knew how far he could press her? Perhaps his plans were not as ruined as he feared. Tom caught himself. No, it would not due to become overconfident. No matter how much he loathed Dumbledore, the old man was no fool and he'd chosen the mudblood for a reason. He would have to be cautious but if caution would give him victory then he would do it.

Hermione could tell that Riddle hadn't expected her to reappear so soon. He probably thought she would need to lick her wounds longer. She had to admit that it was partly a matter of pride that had sent her out again. If he realized he could affect her so easily, then he would take advantage of that. Surprisingly he said nothing about it and had accepted the information with what grace he could manage. Unfortunately, whatever status quo that might have followed was destroyed by the sneer that appeared on Riddle's face as he glanced over the prospectus.

"What now?" Hermione asked with annoyance.

"It seems that the wizarding world's standards have fallen when it comes to further education."

"Excuse me?" Hermione snapped crossly.

"Tell me, has this muggle foolishness completely deluded the wizarding world?"

The disdain in the boy's face was very real. Hermione felt her desire to smack it off return with vengeance but this time she controlled herself. Her choice in attending Twin Oaks had been a hard one. The wizarding world traditionally expected young witches and wizards to apprentice themselves to Masters either privately or through the Ministry or Gringotts. While this system worked relatively well, it required a young witch or wizard to decide on their career early on. It also resulted in witches and wizards who were highly specialized, with little knowledge of different disciplines.

Twin Oaks had been formed a few years before Voldemort's first rise to power. It was intended for the brightest students who wished to spend two to four years learning a diversity of subjects at a higher level. While students might concentrate on a particular area, they were still exposed to a variety of other subjects. It had been remarkably popular with Masters who wished for an arena to show off their skills and attract apprentices from the brightest in the wizarding world. To be accepted into Twin Oaks was a great honor.

Despite this, Riddle's slur wasn't unexpected. Twin Oaks had been criticized as being an unwanted incursion of muggle culture into the wizarding world as Twin Oaks was modeled in some ways on muggle universities. It was, however, a lot less formal and more self-study oriented. The criticism had slowly died down after the advantages of a broader knowledge base made themselves known. Thanks to Twin oaks there was a greater degree of cross disciplinary research being done. The results of those projects spoke for themselves. As did the later accomplishments of Twin Oaks graduates.

This, of course, was something that Hermione knew Riddle didn't know. Nor could he know that she took her studies very seriously. Biting her cheek, Hermione glared at Riddle. His face was carved with a superior, condescending look that she had seen more than once on the faces of various Slytherins. She had eventually learned that it was something of a default expression. It was also often used to hide fear or unease. More than once, Hermione wondered if it was handed out as standard first year issue along with House badges and scarves.

Tom probably thought he was saddled with an imbecile that couldn't even get a half-descent apprenticeship. This made Hermione feel a pang of compassion. No matter what she though of his ethics of goals, Hermione had respected Voldemort's mind. He was undeniably brilliant and she had appreciated how ruthlessly he'd worked to cultivate both his intelligence and talents. Tom Riddle would share that desire to succeed and Hermione could understand that very well.

"You might want to read a little more carefully, Tom," Hermione said as evenly as she could. "It's no the third rate diploma mill you think it is."

"Isn't it?"

"It was established so that people could study a variety of subjects at a higher level. Renowned Masters from around the world lecture at Twin Oaks. An apprenticeship with a first rate Master, is easier to obtain than acceptance into Twin Oaks."

"So you say," Riddle replied, with emphasis on 'you'.

"Just read it over. All the information is in there along with the information I compiled about graduates."

Tom had to restrain his wince when he realized the girl had read his discomfort so easily. The resulting anger was a balm to his new wounds. Maybe Twin Oaks wasn't the academic quagmire he'd though it was but it was decidedly muggle at heart. Tom clenched the shiny brochure and forced himself to read it. Against his will, he had to admit he couldn't find anything to suggest the mudblood was wrong about Twin Oaks success.

"You want to study runes?" Tom finally offered.

"Yes. I find their many uses interesting. Primarily, I'm interested in their ability to act as a conduit for spells but I also have an interest in how they can be used in the manufacture of magical items."

"An ambitious course of study. Most consider it a lost art or a relic of antiquity," Tom spoke a little uncomfortably, his tone suspended between compliment and insult.

"True enough but I have a... knack with them."

"You have used runes before?" Tom asked with surprise. "Hogwarts focused on translation and did not offer the practical applications of runes when I studied here."

"They still don't but I did several independent studies," Hermione replied.

"Would you be willing to elaborate?"

Hermione's first instinct was to refuse and change the subject. There was something in his voice, though, that made her suspect he expected her to do just that. Or perhaps it was the way he had hardened himself against an anticipated sharp refusal. Again she was reminded of a puppy kicked once too often. Not certain that she liked this growing compassion for Riddle, Hermione considered his request. There really wasn't any reason not to tell him about her some of her work. Even the work she had done with the Order probably didn't need to be kept secret any longer.

"Most of my work on runes is threefold. The first is to create my own personal runic script. Any serious student of runes must do so. Then, I wish to translate or decompose more known spells into a usable runic form. Finally, I have been learning to incorporate ancient and personal runes in the manufacture of magical goods."

"That's quite a diversified base of study," Tom said uncertainly.

"I would like to focus on my personal script for now, but the Order required my expertise elsewhere."

"As in the destruction of my older self?" Tom challenged.

"Yes," Hermione replied, not giving an inch.

"You're not one who is easily bullied," Tom offered with a slit-eyed glance.

"If I was, Dumbledore wouldn't have chosen me," Hermione agreed tentatively. "Would you like to look at some of the items I've made?"

It was a gesture of goodwill and they both knew it. Their whole conversation was similar to the displays that animals went through when meeting in the wild. First, there was the customary fluffing of fur or feathers to establish both individuals place in the hierarchy of things. Then there came the series of posturing and subtle indications to establish the suspension of hostility. Only then could both creatures get on with the business of ignoring each other. Hermione wondered just how long it would take. The idea of walking on eggshells for the rest of her life, was disheartening.

"That would be acceptable."

With no little trepidation, Hermione stood and indicated for Riddle to follow her. Opening the door to her room, she let him enter first. In essence she was opening her life to him in the shadow of a forced intimacy. Maybe it was a small thing to show him some of her research but Hermione still felt uncomfortable. It wasn't as if he'd offered her the same in return. Not that Hermione expected it. She already knew that if any status quo was to be reached between them, it would be mostly the result of her work. The trick would be to know how many compromises to make. Hermione knew she would have to be the better person, but she wasn't going to be the one who made all the sacrifices. At least they were now in her territory.

Giving no indication of her troublesome thoughts, Hermione went to her trunk. With practiced movements, she dealt with the wards she'd placed upon it and then opened the third compartment of her trunk. Looking upon the items she had crafted with her hands and her magic sent a pulse of accomplishment washing through her. For a moment she considered what to show Riddle. Having made her choices Hermione removed three items. They were among the first she had ever made. Perhaps, they were not great works of magic but that first rush of heady success that had accompanied their successful creation was indelibly imprinted upon her mind.

The first was an unremarkable potion vial. Slightly gray in tone; the glass was thick and opaque. The stopper was functional and almost severe in its lack of decoration. It was an object that seemed as if it could belong to any potions student at Hogwarts. That was unless you examined it more closely. If you looked carefully, a series of runes encircled the vial, neatly hidden by the vial's lip. A similar series also adorned the stopper. The runes she had inscribed expanded the vial's capacity. This was a common enough function but Hermione had added a personal twist to the runic series. It allowed for the contents of the vial to be used in precise amounts.

It was a function that had been remarkably useful. In battle, you didn't have time to measure out a correct dose of potions. In the past, if potions were carried into battle, they had to be separated into single doses. This could be cumbersome and awkward. Hermione's bottle had been a nice advantage to the Order members until an enterprising Death Eater had gotten his hands on it and copied her work. Not that Hermione had expected otherwise. Hermione was too familiar with muggle arms races to expect the wizarding world to be that different.

The second item was more whimsical than anything. It was created partly out of vanity but also to experiment with blending several different forms of magic. Hermione had spent hours carefully transfiguring delicate leaves and blossoms of a hawthorn tree from a bar of silver. The runes she had woven into its structure bid the plant to blossom and unfurl leaves as if it was a real plant. With charms she had added color wile keeping the shine of the metal. She had even made the tiny blossoms smell faintly of the almost unpleasant scent of a hawthorn tree in full bloom. Hermione intended to wear the circlet to the formal dinner all Hogwarts seventh year students were to attend.

The last item was the most important of anything Hermione had made or would make. It was the tool with which she would practice her chosen field of magic and the first thing any serious student of runes created. The dagger was ten inches long from hilt to tip and was carefully crafted for the magical carving and direction of runes. Runes in her own script encircled the hilt and ran down along the edges of the blade to end 'v'. Mounted on the pommel was a polished but irregularly shaped moonstone, surrounded by abstract designs worked in filigree silver. If Hermione were to brush her fingers over the metal, it would hum with her own energy. Unsurprisingly, that was the first thing Riddle reached out to touch. Before his fingers made contact with the steel his hand paused and he looked up at her for permission.

"Go ahead," Hermione agreed softly, a little surprised at his manners.

Long fingers skimmed the surface of the metal and lingered on the terminating rune at the tip of the dagger. She knew that he was testing the magic that she had invested in it from its creation and then later use. An echo of any magic channeled through the dagger would remain and grow through time. Hermione hadn't had her rune blade for long but already there was a noticeable buildup. The war had seen to that.

"You've used this a great deal but I can tell you haven't had it for long," Tom spoke up.

"You are correct. I made it as a special project in Runes for extra credit on my NEWTs."

"So you are ambitious," Tom remarked with a cruel twist to his words.

"Yes but unlike some I can tamper my ambition with common sense," Hermione rebuked.

Instead of angering him, the words seemed to amuse him. Hermione found this worse than if her words had sparked off another argument. She disliked being made light of and that was what he was doing. With an effort she controlled her reaction. The last thing she wanted was for Riddle to know how much that annoyed her. He wouldn't have any compunction about using that weak spot against her.

"What stone did you blend with the metal as a conductor?"

"That's a personal question," Hermione replied with a raised brow.

In the creation of a rune blade, magic was used to combine steel and a precious stone. Which stone was used depended on the creator's personal magic. The selection of the stone had to match the creator perfectly, as the magically blended metal would conduct the creator's magic. Hermione bit her lip in consideration. Already the moonstone told Riddle more than enough about her magic. The pommel stone also had to match the creator's magic as it stored and balanced her magic.

"Tell me you're not superstitious, Granger," Tom snorted. "It's no different than telling me your wand core."

He was right. His question was a personal one only because tradition made it so. All telling him her conducting stone would do was hint at her magical strengths. That he could learn from her NEWT results. Given she had access to his, it was fair enough to answer his question.

"Sapphire. The conducting stone is sapphire."

"Interesting choices."

"In what way?" Hermione asked, interested despite herself.

"Moonstone... that is often used to enhance intuition and emotion. It is also typically linked to feminine mysteries. Sapphire can help to balance mind, body and magic. It is particularly useful for enhancing clarity of thought and strengthening the will. Both stones are very focused on the powers of the mind. Either you have formidable strength of will or are deficient in those areas."

Hermione reconsidered her previous opinion about the personal nature of conducting stones. With apparently little effort, Riddle had gained yet more insight into her character than she would truly prefer. That was more than a little disturbing. Knowledge was power and already she was at a disadvantage. The Slytherin was far more cunning than she. He hid in shadows and half-truths with ease, where she stumbled.

"...somehow I don't Dumbledore would have chosen a fool for my chaperone," Riddle continued and Hermione realized she'd missed some of what he'd said.

"I suppose not," Hermione replied uneasily.

"Tell me about this," Riddle requested indicating the circlet, changing the subject, as if he hadn't noticed her discomfort. "You didn't use just runes for this."

"No, I didn't," Hermione replied with a little pride for her work. "I used transfiguration to shape the circlet, charms to give it color and scent and runes to give it the semblance of life."

"You must have used a precious metal. Nothing else would hold such complicated magic. Silver? Gold?"

"Silver. I considered platinum but I couldn't afford it," Hermione said with a sigh.

"Hawthorn... considered linked to both life and death. Considered a protective wood, particularly for guarding entry ways and portals," Tom said half to himself and turned to the vial. "Now tell me about this vial. It's clearly not what it seems or you would not have showed it to me."

Hermione balked at his tone. Riddle's words were not a request but an order. It reminded Hermione unpleasantly of Voldemort's imperious manner. Being ordered about by a pretentious teen Dark Lord did not sit well with Hermione. The temptation to snap back something rude was great but she managed to wrestle it into submission. She was becoming far too sensitive to his jibes. With new resolution, she gave Riddle a challenging look.

"Try to guess," Hermione returned.

"A challenge?" Tom asked with a smirk and then picked up the vial.

The young wizard turned the glass vial over in his hands. Hermione watched as he examined the runes and then used his wand to test the magics they contained. She smiled to herself knowing that the glass of the vial would mute the telltale auras. Glass did not conduct or absorb magic well. It was, after all, one of the reasons why glass was used to house potions.

When exposed to other magics of a certain strength, potions tended to explode or degrade at an increased rate. This was why potions classes were conducted in the dungeon and why wands were generally kept tucked away. The sensitivity of potions to wand magic was why an expanded container that measured out doses hadn't been created before. Previously all attempts to do so had been done using charms. Those charms created a strong magical field and if any other spells were used, they would interact badly with the potion. Runes magic was more subtle and did not have the heavy magical aura that wand magic often did. Hermione had used that to her advantage to find a method of combining runes, which if worked on the container, could be used to create layered effects without damaging the potion.

"Is this your personal script?" Riddle asked.

"It is."

"Unless I spend hours decoding it I suppose I shall have to resort to deduction."

"Why how muggle of you Mr Riddle," Hermione taunted, unable to help herself.

"Appropriate given who created this little trinket," Tom sneered. "I could use several spells but something tells me that you'd object."

Hermione knew the kind of spells he meant. They were Dark in nature and generally destroyed the item they were used on. The advantage was that they unraveled enchantments into their component magics quickly. From there it was a matter of reproducing them. That was probably how the Death Eaters had copied her work. They were known to favor brute force over careful research.

"I know the spells you mean and I have used them," Hermione replied. "But you are correct that I wouldn't appreciate my prototype rendered into sludge."

"So Dumbledore's prize Lioness has flirted with the dark?" Riddle drawled in a sinister whisper.

"War can put ends before means," Hermione said blandly, displeased with how he'd made 'prize lioness' sound like 'prized heifer'.

"So we've found out to our dismay... but back to the challenge," Riddle replied crossly, before turning his attention back to the vial. "Since you're flaunting your ingenuity, I doubt this is simple a series of runes to expand the size of the vial. Besides, the alignment is unique. Hmm, I doubt it's just to make it unbreakable either."

"It is both of those things," Hermione conceded.

"But more..." Riddle muttered with a frown. "Could it be? Did you find a solution to..."

"Which solution would that be?" Hermione challenged, wondering if he'd guessed correctly.

"You did. You worked out how to use runes to layer magics so it wouldn't cause the potion to degrade. Doses. The runes measure out the potion in dose form."

"Yes," Hermione said with a smile of accomplishment.

"Clever work. You've accomplished what Charms Masters have been struggling with for centuries. How deliciously ironic given how most Charms Masters consider runes as a relic of the past."

The words were reluctant but Hermione didn't doubt their truth. She nodded, accepting them as the concession they were. Hermione only hoped that it was a sign of things to come. Perhaps it wouldn't be too hard to convince Riddle to meet her halfway. It would certainly make things easier on them both.

"Sometimes it just takes a new perspective," Hermione replied with a shrug.

"Such modesty," Riddle mocked with a half-smile.

"Well, I wouldn't want to hurt the fragile egos of my betters, now would I," Hermione said with a sharp smile.

"Of course not," Riddle purred with perfect innocence, eyes dancing with amusement. "The runes are in your script... can they be rendered into traditional form?"

Her grudging respect for Riddle rose a few notches. Few wizards would have so quickly picked up on the drawback of her creation. If the runic spell could only be done in her script it would render it useless to anyone but her. If rendered with generic script, her design could be reproduced in mass.

That Voldemort was a formidable wizard was undeniable but Hermione hadn't been sure about his younger self. Voldemort had years to hone his talents and to gather knowledge, that Tom did not. Hermione was exceedingly glad of that but even now Tom Riddle had a rare intelligence. As uncomfortable as their conversation had been at times, Hermione was beginning to enjoy talking to him about magical theory.

"Actually, I began in traditional Norse runes. I only switched to my own script for security reasons."

"A wise move but I doubt that helped for long," Tom mocked.

"True and I learned from that. After your Death Eaters copied my work, I learned to incorporate security measures into my work. That slowed them down considerably."

"Your script is remarkably developed from what I've seen."

"Not really. Most of what I have completed has been linked to my work with the war. As a result most of what I've developed is rather specialized. There is a great deal of basic scripting that I need to complete, let alone-. Well, you get the idea," Hermione blushed as she realized she had started to lecture.

"At least you have the intelligence to recognize how much you don't know."

"Hmm, was that a backhanded compliment?" Hermione asked with a raised brow. "If so, then this is not the first time you've complimented me."

"I don't do flattery, Granger. Not unless it gains me something in return and there is nothing I currently want from you," Riddle retorted, lying smoothly. "I was simply stating an opinion."

Hermione wasn't so sure she was willing to accept his explanation. She didn't challenge it, though. This was the closest they had come to interacting without outright hostility. Yes, there were a few tense moments but she didn't want to spoil things. Meeting Riddle's cold, dark eyes, Hermione felt a tingle of apprehension mixed with voracious curiosity. Knowing she would coax nothing more from him, Hermione shrugged and replaced the items in her trunk.

Turning she found Tom slouching against the wall, looking more comfortable in her room than she ever had. So much for engaging him in her own territory and from a position of strength! Hermione felt the sudden desire to retreat to neutral territory. Thankfully, he didn't argue when she indicated they return to the common room.

"I assume that the work you did with Dumbledore's Order was similar to what I just saw?" Tom asked as he sat down on what was becoming his chair.

"Somewhat," Hermione replied carefully. "I created the vial and several other items specifically for the Order. Mostly I worked with the others on multi-disciplinary projects."

"Like the circlet..."

"Yes. The successes we had with mixing different approaches made me want to experiment."

"Your strengths seem to be runes, charms and transfiguration. Mine are the dark arts, charms and arithmancy. I assume you know this?"

"You cultivated those abilities in later life," Hermione agreed. "You are right about my own abilities too. Why do you ask?"

"To better create a history of the research we supposedly did for the Order. With our particular interests, it makes sense for us to have worked well together at magical projects. Particularly so if we were under the watchful eye of Dumbledore and the others you mentioned."

"The others were Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick. Snape was there... in Dumbledore's office," Hermione found herself stalling and she blushed. "He's a very skillful Potion's Master. He is also knowledgeable in the Dark Arts. Professor Flitwick is a Charms and Dueling Master. He joined the Order later but was very important in our later work. Others contributed to a lesser degree. Mostly Remus Lupin- a werewolf and past DADA teacher and Harry Potter."

"I find it amazing that Dumbledore would allow students in harms way," Tom remarked.

"I doubt he would have allowed it except for our particular history. Let me just say that the final battle was not the first time we had confronted Death Eaters or even your older self."

"My, my, Dumbledore is far more ruthless than I ever gave him credit for being."

"Like I said, war necessitates hard decisions," Hermione replied, her throat closing up at the memories that flooded back.

"Touch on a sore spot, did I?"

The cold taunt stirred her anger. Hermione felt sick at his gloating anticipation. Oh, she knew he wouldn't shy away from enjoying any pain he inflicted on her, but there was more to it. Any hurt she experienced was nothing to his anticipation of Dumbledore falling from grace. Not for the first time, Hermione wondered at the strange rivalry between Voldemort and Dumbledore. Did Tom really resent Dumbledore for seeing beyond the charming exterior he'd presented while at school? That seemed too petty a reason for such animosity.

"I think you're more interested in whether Dumbledore proved your pet theory about power right. Isn't that so, Riddle? Harry told me your little line about that."

"What if I am? Dumbledore lectures everyone about responsibility and champions fairness- as if there was such a thing. Do you really think he's not above to using his power for his own benefit? He's a hypocrite, Granger."

"Then maybe it's you who should stop putting him on a pedestal! You certainly seem to think he should be flawless," Hermione snapped.

"Me? You think I, Lord Voldemort-"

"Strange, I see no Lord Voldemort here. All I see is a boy having a tantrum. You criticize Dumbledore for being a hypocrite and I find that quite ironic."

"You know nothing, Granger," Riddle said in a near hiss. "My motives are beyond your pathetic understanding. Go back to your precious Headmaster, mudblood."

Hermione watched as Riddle swept out of the common room in a way that would have done Snape proud. The pleasure of seeing him flee from her sharp tongue was not as sweet as she'd hoped. As vindicated as she felt, their truce was in tatters. Failing wasn't something Hermione had even enjoyed and she had no idea as to how to salvage the truce from this rather brutal argument. Not willing to stay in the now too quiet common room, Hermione made her own exit. With any luck, her transfiguration homework would keep her mind occupied.


	6. Part 6

Part 6

"So Dumbledore left that for me to tell," Hermione sighed.

With tired resolution, Hermione massaged her temples. The intricacies of human to inanimate matter transfigurations had not given her any peace the previous day. Instead, her better judgment proceeded to reprimand her soundly for her hasty behavior. Sleep had been out of the question. When she did manage to drift off, her disappointment and the lingering remnants of anger had seen to it that her sleep had been shallow. Then Hermione was once again woken by McGonagall who hastily escorted her to her office where Harry, Ginny and Ron stood with worried expressions.

They had enveloped her in hugs and for a moment, Hermione had felt the burden of what had happened weigh less heavily on her shoulders. Then they had peppered her with questions about just how Dumbledore had created. That she was expected to tell her friends she'd just shagged the teenage Dark Lord was the cherry on her sundae.

Hermione had mixed feelings about Dumbledore's omission. In some ways, she was glad that Dumbledore has left her to explain the more personal aspect of the binding between herself and Riddle. Coming from the Headmaster, it would seem at best clinical and at worst callous. It was also rather embarrassing to think of Dumbledore talking about her loss of virginity. Even if he _had_ officiated.

"What do you mean, Hermione?" Ginny asked.

"Let me put it this way, I wish I'd taken up Terry Boot's offer in sixth year."

Immediately, Ginny's eyes widened in comprehension. She had been the one that Hermione had exploded to when Terry Boot had inelegantly propositioned her with the clichéd line 'it would be a pity to die a virgin'. As rule abiding as Hermione was, she had hexed him with weeping sores in a most uncomfortable place. Had he been at least a little more original, Ginny suspected that Hermione might have settled for simply hexing his buttocks. As amusing as the recollection was, it took greater meaning now. She and Hermione were close and Ginny knew that the older girl had resolved to die a virgin rather than settle for a hasty but ultimately meaningless tumble the night before the battle. Ginny might have understood the reference but Harry was clearly puzzled.

"Riddle didn't h-hurt you did he?" Ginny asked in a horrified tone.

"Hurt-? Oh, no, it wasn't like that!" Hermione reassured awkwardly.

Relief flooded Ginny and prickled her cheeks with color. The momentary horror she had felt still chilled her insides. All too well she was acquainted with Tom Riddle's vicious side. He wasn't just ruthless; he enjoyed the pain his actions caused. Immediately, her mind had assumed the worse. Visions of Tom raping Hermione had sprung up into her head. Hermione's swift reply had sent those thoughts flying out of her head. If she wasn't raped, what was Hermione going on about? Ginny bit her lip as she wondered. Oh, she knew Tom was very handsome. He'd bragged several times that he'd used that to manipulate others. Surely Hermione wouldn't have been so easily and so quickly swayed by simple attractiveness? Then again, she knew how magnetic Tom could be.

"Wait, what are you two going on about? Did Riddle do something?" Harry asked, looking like he was just itching for a reason to hex Hermione's bond mate.

"No, I said he didn't. Please relax, Harry. You too Ron. Don't think I can't see your ears going red! I'll explain but this is difficult and... really embarrassing," Hermione said with a growing blush. "First I want you to swear you won't do anything until you hear everything I have to say."

"Careful Hermione, if we swear that we might be here all day," Harry suddenly grinned, referring to Hermione's sometimes longwinded explanations.

"Harry, I mean it," Hermione replied not swayed by his attempt at humor.

"Alright, we swear. You can tell us anything, you know that," Harry assured and the others nodded their assent.

The queasiness in her stomach only seemed to magnify. Hermione knew that they would be true to their word. It was just they already were concerned. Sharing the details would only make it worse and she'd had her fill of conflict lately. The irony would be that she'd be fighting _for_ Riddle instead of against him. It didn't take a genius to guess that her friends' first impulse would be to find Riddle and hex him across the Channel. As amusing as that would be, Hermione knew it would only make her life more difficult.

"Dumbledore told you that he bound us together so that I could stop Tom from using magic if it was necessary. To create and solidify the bond, there had to be two forms of sacrifice," Hermione said as calmly as she could.

"Sacrifices...? What kinds of sacrifices?" Harry asked.

"You're not talking Dark Arts are you?" Ron asked. "I thought Dumbledore wouldn't use that stuff."

"No, it's not Dark Arts. The Headmaster used an ancient binding spell," Hermione replied and wondered if Dumbledore wouldn't be their target of choice.

"Okay, then what sacrifices were they?" Ginny questioned.

"Blood and virginity."

"What!"

The combined exclamations of the three echoed through the chamber. The resulting wince from Hermione was enough to divert most of the first irrational response in her friends. They shared a look and as one they did their best to contain themselves. Hermione couldn't help but feel proud. Once upon a time they would have exploded without thinking. They had all grown up.

Hermione appreciated their efforts. It was absurd but she felt even more ashamed now she had told them. It was as if her actions, as unknowing as they'd been, had made her into one of Mrs Weasley's 'scarlet women'. So, it was with great discomfort that Hermione watched Ron's face grew redder and redder with the effort of restraining his temper. Harry's eyes were shadowed and slowly growing hard with anger. Of the three, Ginny was hiding her emotions the best. Her lips were thinned but she otherwise held herself together. With a detached mind, Hermione watched them struggle with the information. Unsurprisingly, it was Ginny who spoke first.

"Are you alright, Hermione? You said he didn't hurt you... but are you alright?" Ginny asked gently.

Hermione went to open her mouth to reply that of course she was alright but instead her mouth remained stubbornly closed. Indeed, her bottom lip began to tremble. Hermione struggled to control herself but talking about what happened had brought back the horrible feeling of being used. Seeing her reaction, Ginny threw her arms about Hermione. A small sob threatened to erupt but it was quickly stifled. Hermione was tired of crying. What had happened wasn't alright but she could live with it. Now she needed to focus and deal with this latest challenge.

From long experience, Hermione knew that Harry would be the most difficult. Even without taking his history with Voldemort into consideration, he had a tendency to brood. It was also easy to see that her news was troubling him greatly. His jaw was clenched and his expression pleaded with her to tell him what he'd heard was not true.

"Dumbledore gave us experimental love potions. We didn't really know what we were doing. It just happened," Hermione replied as evenly as she could.

"Snape. Snape made the potions," Harry barked, his anger finding a target.

"No, Harry! Don't go blaming this on Professor Snape," Hermione snapped.

She had grown more than tired of the continued hostilities between Harry and the professor. Their potions professor wasn't her favorite person but Hermione had grown to respect him. Besides that, Harry had no reason to be angry at Snape. Dumbledore had orchestrated the plan. Everyone else had just played a part, knowing or not. Not that she would encourage Harry to focus his ire on Dumbledore. There would be no cursing of any sort if she could help it.

"Then what should I do, Hermione? Who should I blame?" Harry pleaded. "This is a nightmare. How dare he do that to you? The prophecy was supposed to have been fulfilled when I killed Voldemort!"

"I'm sorry, Harry but I don't know what we're supposed to do. As for the prophecy... maybe it was fulfilled. Technically, you did rid the world of the Dark Lord when you killed Voldemort. Tom Riddle is evil but he doesn't qualify as a Dark Lord."

"Still our Hermione; your brain works even during the worst," Ron chuckled despondently.

"No, I think I'm just getting better at this conversation," Hermione said grimly.

"Better at it?" Ginny asked.

"First I confronted Dumbledore and then I had to tell my parents."

"You did!" Ginny exclaimed. "Why- oh. I suppose you would have to. Oh no! Hermione what about your plans! Are you even going to be able to go home? Or to Twin Oaks?"

Hermione smiled in reassurance and hastened to explain the arrangements that Dumbledore had made. Ginny and Ron seemed relieved but Harry seemed uneasy. That didn't sit well with Hermione. Besides not wanting her friend to be troubled for her, she didn't want Harry to interfere. As well meaning as he'd undoubtedly be, there wasn't anything he could do. Most of all, she didn't want Harry taking the responsibility for Voldemort back on his shoulders. He'd earned the right to a life that wasn't filled with death and heartbreak.

"Harry, what are you thinking?"

"I'm... it's-. You're going to Twin Oaks alone, Hermione," Harry said awkwardly, struggling with what he wanted to say.

"Well-" Hermione began to correct.

"I'm not talking about Riddle, Hermione. I mean you're going off without anyone to watch your back."

"He's got a point," Ron agreed. "I don't like that Dumbledore has you shuffling off with that git so quick."

"Oh, you two," Hermione sighed. "I'll be fine. Dumbledore has arranged for me to check in with people and I'm sure if I have any problems he'll be willing to help."

"This is Voldemort, not your average dark wizard. Look, I've never traded on my fame before but I'm sure if I pull some strings-" Harry began.

"No! Forget it! I love you, Harry. You're one of my best friends but you are not going to give up your life to be my watchdog! You finally have the chance to have a semi-normal life and I'm not letting you ruin that on my account," Hermione argued.

"What else can I do! He is dangerous, no matter how bloody old he seems to be. We swore none of us would go off alone. We agreed it was too dangerous!" Harry growled.

"He's right and you know it," Ginny sighed. "You'll need us, Hermione. Not the way Harry thinks, though. Tom... he's good at messing with your head. He gets in and twists everything around. You'll need us."

An uncomfortable silence fell. Ginny's experiences with the diary were not something that she talked about often. The truth of what she'd said was impossible to refute. Hermione had already felt Tom's ability to influence her. She couldn't think of a time where she'd felt more on edge and confused. Not that he could take all the credit for her state of mind. The way the bond was created was partly to blame. Hermione was also beginning to suspect the connection was more complicated than what they'd been told.

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione replied.

"But-" Harry started.

"Stop it, Harry! Don't you see you're making things worse? Besides, what could you do? Lurk around scowling at him?" Ginny groused and Harry backed down reluctantly.

"How are you, 'Mione? He's not being awful is he?" Ron asked gently.

Hermione couldn't help but sigh at that. It would be a lie to say that Riddle wasn't being awful but Hermione was beginning to suspect that it was permanent state of being. If that was so, she was going to have to learn to live with it, without getting into arguments.

"Not really," Hermione began and then noticed Harry's skeptical expression. "No more than is to be expected, anyway. Sometimes I almost think things are going well but then one of us says something and we're on the verge of hexing each other."

"So he's not turning the charm on?" Ginny asked.

"He's tried once or twice but my knowing what is behind it, makes it pointless," Hermione replied.

"Guess so..."

"Wait, you almost started dueling?" Harry asked with concern.

"Almost but you know what Dumbledore said about the bond," Hermione replied, hoping Harry wouldn't remember she had yet to learn how to repress Riddle's magic. "Besides, we both know that we have to get along at least a little. If we don't then life will be very uncomfortable, indeed."

"Just don't let him bully you," Ginny added. "He could use that to force you into taking his lead."

"You're right but it's hard. I'm not going to live my life arguing with him every five minutes but I don't want to walk on eggshells either. He's so prickly! Half the time I don't know what will set him off."

"Well, what set it off the last time?" Ginny asked.

"It was a stupid discussion about the Order. I had to give him some background information and... well, we started arguing about Dumbledore. Riddle kept going on about how much of a hypocrite Dumbledore was and I made a comment about how it seemed as if he was the one with unrealistic expectations."

"Oh, 'Mione," Harry groaned with a pained look.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"You really stepped in it that time. Let's just say that Dumbledore and Riddle don't have a pleasant history."

"How do you know this, Harry?"

Harry grimaced and then blushed a little. Suspicion began to grow and Hermione pinned Harry with a glare. In sixth year, Dumbledore had pulled Harry aside several times but Harry had never told them what for. Since they were all being taken aside by different Order members for training, they hadn't thought much of it. Now Hermione suspected Dumbledore had been teaching Harry more than Defense techniques.

"Remember in sixth year?" Harry mumbled.

"Sixth year? When Dumbledore..." Ron said and then trailed off in realization.

"Yeah, kinda. Dumbledore showed me some of his memories about Tom Riddle. He... he wanted me to understand Voldemort better."

"Why didn't you tell us, Harry!" Hermione burst out.

"Most of it you knew. I swear!" Harry protested. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you but it just seemed personal."

Frustrated, Hermione flopped into one of McGonagall's chairs. It hurt to think that Harry had been keeping secrets from them but to some degree or another they all had secrets. The war had necessitated it. Harry shifted uncomfortably for a while but Hermione didn't know what to say. She almost didn't want to know about any more about Riddle. That wasn't something she could allow herself, though. Ignoring the problem, even temporarily might prove dangerous.

"Well, what did you see?" Ginny growled, asking the question on all of their minds.

"Not all that much. Dumbledore showed me only three memories. He said there wasn't much point showing me seven years worth of transfiguration classes. He only showed me significant events. The first was when Dumbledore delivered Tom's Hogwart's letter."

"_Dumbledore_ delivered it?" Ron exclaimed.

"He wasn't the Headmaster then," Harry replied. "He took it to the orphanage and told Tom about magic and that he was a wizard."

"What else did you see?" Hermione asked softly, sensing something Harry wasn't saying.

"Well, he- Tom, thought he was being carted off to an asylum," Harry said awkwardly. "He wasn't too pleasant even then. He'd been using his magic to bully the other orphans. Dumbledore found that out from the caretaker."

"What was he doing?" Ginny asked a little pale.

"The caretaker really didn't say. She only suspected and she didn't exactly know about magic. Anyway, Dumbledore did some kind of spell to prove magic did exist and then found out that Tom had been stealing stuff. Dumbledore said they were reminders of the things he'd done."

"You mean the bad things," Ginny said.

"Yeah."

"Then what?" Ron asked.

"Dumbledore was very stern and said that kind of thing wasn't allowed at Hogwarts and that he had to give the stuff back."

Hermione felt her stomach drop as Harry elaborated on what he saw. No wonder Riddle had reacted the way he had last night. She had also been right about there being more to the antagonism she'd seen between Tom and Dumbledore. Perhaps Dumbledore had hoped to curb Tom's misbehavior, but Hermione wondered if his reaction had been a little harsh. She had felt a pang of pity, for a child convinced he was being taken to a madhouse. As unpleasant as Tom might have been, he hadn't deserved that! If their first encounter set the tone for their later exchanges, no wonder Voldemort had hated Dumbledore.

"What about the other memories?" Hermione asked.

"Well, one was the confrontation between Dumbledore and Tom Riddle about the Chamber of Secrets," Harry replied, glancing at Ginny.

"Wasn't that the one that the Diary showed you?" Hermione questioned.

"It was and I have to say I was surprised that Tom hadn't manipulated it for his own benefit. Then again, he didn't have to," Harry frowned in memory.

"We already know about that one, so what's the other?" Ginny asked bravely.

"It was another meeting with Dumbledore. Apparently Riddle applied for the DADA job."

"He what?" Ron asked in amazement.

"He applied for the job- twice. The first time Dippet refused him because he was too young and inexperienced. The second time, the memory I saw, he'd already unveiled himself as Lord Voldemort."

"Why did he want to job, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not sure. Probably to recruit Death Eaters."

"Hogwarts would be perfect for that," Hermione admitted.

"Oh, and you know how everyone said the position was cursed?" Harry offered.

"You're kidding! You Know Who-" Ron burst out.

"Say that name, Ron," Hermione growled out of habit.

"Fine, _Voldemort_ really cursed the DADA job? Why hasn't Dumbledore broken the curse?"

"According to Dumbledore only Voldemort could reverse it. Hey, Hermione, you should have Riddle break the curse," Harry spoke up.

"Somehow I don't think he'll be doing me any favors, Harry," Hermione admitted. "Our last argument was quite bad."

"You could always bribe or blackmail him," Ginny said matter-of-factly.

"Ginny!" Ron scolded. "You've been spending too much time around the twins!"

"I have one word for you, Ron- '_Lockhart'._"

"Okay, twist the bugger's arm all you want, 'Mione."

"You're getting awfully cocky for someone who still calls Voldemort 'You Know Who'," Hermione teased.

"Yeah, well, he's our age now. I figure I have a fighting chance. If not, I'm sure I can get some jokes off the twins."

"Are pranks your answer to everything," Hermione grumbled.

"Come on, like you wouldn't enjoy seeing him sprout feathers," Ron grinned.

Her blush was the only answer Ron needed. It would be nice to see Riddle taken down a peg or two. Such thoughts would have to remain fantasies, though. Ridicule and persecution was not the answer. If the war had shown them anything, it was that hate only bred more hate. Perhaps she didn't know exactly how to deal with Tom, but Hermione knew that antagonizing him wasn't it.

She wasn't so naive as to think that she could redeem Tom Riddle. Hermione realized that she was thinking of him as if he was like one of Hagrid's dangerous beasts. You could treat him well and hope he would return the favor but you never dared turn your back. Thankfully, Tom Riddle was more intelligent than a manticore or a skrewt. Hermione knew that he could be reasoned with and could generally be trusted to act in his own best interest. That was a starting point, at least. It was also her hope that he could find things other than Dark Arts to absorb himself in.

"...and we need to work out how to best help Hermione," Harry said, the sound of Hermione's name breaking her out of her thoughts.

"What was that, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I said we need to form a plan to help you."

"In what way? I'm not sure it would be a good idea for you to confront him. Things are difficult enough."

"We know that and I mean a plan for this summer. We all have the summer free. Auror training doesn't start until October and Ron's Quidditch tryouts start around then too. Of course Ginny has the holiday free," Harry explained.

"We should use something like the Galleons you made for the DA, Hermione," Ginny suggested.

"Like a check-in. It's not that I don't trust Dumbledore but it would be good to know you're okay," Ron said with sober eyes.

"Riddle wouldn't even have to know about it," Harry added.

Although she trusted Dumbledore, Hermione had to agree a secondary check-in, or at worst, an alternate system wouldn't be a bad idea. The bond gave her some measure of safety, but Hermione had seen too much in the war rest all her hopes on it. She wasn't going to underestimate Tom Riddle. The more precautions the better.

Giving her ascent they discussed various methods and codes for contacting each other. They finally settled on jewelry. This would make it less likely that the enchanted item would be misplaced or dropped. The Galleons had worked well with the DA but Hermione had to fashion new ones for several members because they had lost the originals. They were still discussing the details when McGonagall entered and hurried Ginny, Harry and Ron to classes. As Hermione watched her friends file out, Ginny quickly leaned in.

"I want to talk to you later about Tom. He's a shifty bastard but don't lose hope. He's very proud so use it to your advantage and challenge him," Ginny whispered.

Hermione nodded mutely as Ginny left. The memories of the previous night ran through Hermione's mind. Tom had been more than willing to display his knowledge and discuss magic. Maybe Ginny was right but it wouldn't be easy. Riddle could catch on if she wasn't careful about how she went about it. He would resent any manipulation on her part, although he'd certainly try manipulating her. To Hermione, what was good for the goose was good for the gander. Her heart lightened and even McGonagall telling her to go to the Headmasters office for lessons on the bond, didn't dampen her mood.

* * *

Sulking in his room was hardly the way he wished to spend his time, but Tom was finding it very hard to muster himself from bed. Even if he had managed to bestir himself, he was currently confined to the shared Heads suit. There seemed little point in rising until he had to. McGonagall had woken him a little over an hour ago with the news that after lessons began for the day, he would meet with Granger in the Headmaster's office. They would finally being told more about the bond. As much as Tom wanted to know more about the magic that kept him prisoner, he was disinclined to interact further with the mudblood. He was still seething over the events of the previous day.

The girl was intolerable. All of his carefully made plans and resolutions had flown out of the window as if he had no self-control at all. Tom was no stranger to taunts and insults. It just seemed that if she was dealing them out, he couldn't help but reciprocate. No wonder, though. She was the source of all his current problems. Tom sighed and amended himself. She wasn't quite so insidious. Indeed, she was often ridiculously easy to read. Dumbledore was the reason he found himself in the position he was in. Granger was simply ever present reminder of his bondage.

Displeased with the somewhat maudlin turn of his thoughts, Tom finally hauled himself from among his bed sheets. That harpy McGonagall would be back soon and he needed to get ready. Classes were due to start and he would have to make nice to both Granger and Dumbledore. If last night was any indication, things would end badly. His future contentment was riding on how well he could handle the Granger girl and he was failing miserably. That had to change.

It was just that she had managed to irritate his already rather abraded pride. Tom had to admit he'd underestimated her to a point. Showing him her work had been somewhat foolish. Tom now had a good idea of her level of skill which was, admittedly, exceptional. Oh, he knew that Dumbledore wouldn't assign a fool to watch him but Hermione Granger was another matter entirely. He'd come to the uncomfortable realization that they shared more in common than he liked.

Not only did she have a firm mastery over the basic fundamentals of magic, her ingenuity was astounding. If she applied that flexibility of mind to other things... she would be formidable indeed. For a moment he'd even enjoyed their discussion. Tom shook his head with disgust. Much to his dismay he'd felt the sickening taint of jealousy steal over him. He, Salazar's Heir, was jealous of a mudblood.

The promise he'd once shown and the opportunities he'd worked so hard for were gone. During his years at Hogwarts, Tom had built up quite the reputation as a powerful and intelligent wizard. People of power had begun to recognize him and he'd gained their ear. Now he was a penniless nobody, once again reduced to living on Dumbledore's charity.

While he once led, he was now foundering in another's wake.

Disgusted with how he'd let his emotions rule his better judgment, Tom took stock. The argument had been beneath him. He should not care what a foolish girl thought or said. From the moment of his birth he had been flung into adversity. He'd triumphed despite it all before. If he wanted his life back, then he had to take it. Duping a naive Gryffindor, no matter how intelligent she was, was not beyond his capabilities.


	7. Part 7

Part 7

Dumbledore's office was a madcap as usual. Metallic instruments of indeterminate origin whirled and pinged. Past Headmasters peered from under their lids as they pretended to sleep and the scent of lemon drops pervaded the air. Garishly colored or printed cushions only added to visual mayhem. Not for the first time, Hermione wondered whether the office was a carefully contrived front, or the natural result of nearly a century of teaching in a wizarding school. If the latter was true, Hermione swore never to don Professorly robes.

"You're looking at Dumbledore's office as if you expect something to jump out and bite you."

The familiar tenor was laced with dry humor. Hermione turned to regard the speaker. Tom Riddle seemed as unruffled ever. It was a talent that Hermione was beginning to resent and covet. She certainly wished she could look as confidant as that. Her earlier doubts were busy hatching butterflies in her stomach and she was certain it showed.

"You never know with Dumbledore," Hermione finally replied.

"I suppose that's true. We should count ourselves lucky, then, that mangy bird of his isn't here. I don't think it likes me."

"Here I thought you'd be Fawks' favorite person," Hermione said wryly.

"It's me that ought to keep a grudge. He did blind my basilisk."

"A tragedy, I'm sure."

They lapsed into silence. Tom watched the girl surreptitiously as possible, all the while wondering where Dumbledore had gotten to. He doubted that the Headmaster's absence was coincidence. Well, it didn't matter. It gave him time to mend what their argument had destroyed. A little annoyed at the girl's uncomfortable pacing, Tom sighed heavily.

"Sit down, Granger. I won't bite and we need to talk."

"Except with words, but then the same goes for me," Hermione replied tiredly.

"That is exactly why we need to talk."

She couldn't deny that and so Hermione sank down into one of the chair before Dumbledore's desk. Beside her, Tom also sat. He rested his head on one of his hands and regarded her with a slit gaze. Hermione had the feeling that she was being assessed but then she was doing the very same to Riddle. Ginny and the others had returned her sense of hope but this first meeting after last night, would be difficult no matter how optimistic she was feeling. Hermione had honestly expected Riddle to be all barbs and stings. A relatively jovial Tom Riddle wasn't something she'd expected. The more cynical part suspected that was exactly why he was acting that way. It certainly was effective but Hermione wasn't going to let him wrong foot her again.

"Well?" Hermione prompted, wanting him to make the first move.

"The way we acted last night was below us."

Hermione felt her eyes widen in surprise.

"What? You thought I was incapable of admitting when I was wrong?"

"Something like that," Hermione replied honestly.

"There is a lot you don't know about me, Granger. I suppose the same applies to you and because of that I'm sure we'll step on each others toes again. I have a temper and I don't... react well when it's roused," Tom spoke flatly.

"No, you don't. Temper or no, I'm not going to let myself, or those I love be insulted," Hermione replied.

"Just as I won't stand for your insipid self-righteousness," Tom snapped and then visibly gathered himself. "I am trying, Granger, I truly am, but if we are going to be forced into each others company for the rest of our lives, perhaps we need to set down some rules."

"Maybe we should just promise not to insult each other," Hermione grumbled.

"Do you really think that's possible?"

"No," Hermione admitted with reluctance. "I would like to believe, however, we can act our age."

"A delusion I'm rather fond of myself," Tom murmured.

Not even five minutes in her company and his peace of mind was shattered. Tom gritted his teeth. At least he had managed to maneuver her where he'd wanted... so far. That was some solace. The problem was that he disliked having to yield anything. He'd had enough of that as a child. Now he was being force to accept this foolish girl as a partner. Tom refused to consider the word 'equal' in regards to her. No matter how clever, she was a mudblood and that was all she would ever be, Tom reminded himself.

"What rules were you thinking of?" Hermione asked.

"First we must try to avoid personal insults. I'm sure we have enough to throw at each other without adding that."

"I can agree to that," Hermione replied.

"Then we should... advise the other if our conversation turns to subjects that we feel strongly about."

It was almost amusing how close their conversation was coming to sounding like something from a book on communication for couples. Hermione caught the almost hysteric chuckle just as it left her throat. Unofficial as it was, they were suffering from an arranged marriage. The whole situation seemed too strange to be true. Rubbing at her eyes tiredly, Hermione wished she was anywhere but where she was.

Riddle's suggestions were logical. They would argue and they had to find some way of surviving it. She had known these were the kinds of compromises they would have to make. That it was Riddle who was the one to bring it up was good. That helped her to avoid the pitfall of having to cajole Riddle into making a concession. At least he was willing to do some of the work, if only for his own good. Hermione managed an agreement and was not sure of what to think of the pleased quirk of lips her response gained.

"Ah, it's good to see you are working out your differences," Dumbledore's voice said from the entryway. "I apologize for being delayed. Peeves was misbehaving again."

The Headmaster's arrival was not as welcome as Hermione thought it would be. Hermione had the sneaking feeling that he'd been eavesdropping on their conversation. She wasn't surprised to see her distrust mirrored on Riddle's face. While she did her best to cover up her reaction to Dumbledore's meddling, Riddle was all too happy to let his displeasure show. Taking a breath, she waited for a scathing retort from the Slytherin. It surprised her when he remained silent while Dumbledore settled behind his desk.

"Now, why don't you tell me how you're doing this fine morning?" Dumbledore said as he proffered a platter of lemon drops.

"We're perfectly fine, Headmaster," Hermione said politely and refused a sweet.

"Good, good. I'm aware that you haven't had breakfast yet, so I will have the house elves bring something up to us."

"It would be better if you just told us what we need to know," Tom said with barely restrained annoyance.

"Certainly but I think explanations will go over better with some crumpets and jam."

With as much patience as she could muster, Hermione nodded and accepted the plate that was offered her when a house elf popped into the office. Crumpets were not her choice of breakfast foods but Hermione ate them anyway. When Dumbledore acted the way he was, there was little choice but to go along with his whims. It also suggested that he was up to something and Hermione was careful to keep herself on alert.

"Now, I'm sure you have noticed that the bond has had some interesting effects. I'm afraid that you'll be a little temperamental for a while longer yet," Dumbledore said.

"You knew this and you didn't tell us?" Riddle questioned.

"It would have been nice to have been told," Hermione agreed.

"The side-effects of a newly formed bond are varied. The most common are either heightened emotional volatility or a sense of lassitude. From what the portraits from the Heads' suite say, it seems to be the former."

The remnants of his good mood from maneuvering the Granger girl where he wanted her, vanished. Tom clenched his hands into fists, just so he could feel the sting of his nails against his palms. The slight pain anchored him to something other than the rage that pulsed at his temples. He'd woken to a nightmare but he'd played along. He'd even told himself that the humiliations forced upon him were passing. Most of all he'd scraped together what dignity he had left. This latest deception was too much.

"You've been spying on us!" Riddle spat, jolting to his feet.

"For your own good," Dumbledore agreed evenly. "While I hope the best will come from this, I cannot ignore the possibilities for conflict that arise from the initial creation of the bond."

"I'm tired of your interference, old man," Tom hissed. "Isn't it enough that you've turned me into some kind of pet and leashed me to your precious mudblood?"

When the slur passed Riddle's lips, Hermione stiffened in anger. She was inclined to ignore it, however, as it was directed towards Dumbledore. It was impossible for her not to agree that Dumbledore had yet again purposefully manipulated them. Undoubtedly, Dumbledore had her safety in mind but Hermione found it difficult to forgive the highhanded way he'd conducted himself.

Why had Dumbledore done it? What could be gained from not telling them? Hermione wasn't sure what to think. All they had done was argue. That argument had pulled all their differences out into the open. Was that what Dumbledore had wanted? Hermione realized that was a very likely. Reluctantly, Hermione realized that he'd been right. Pretending those differences didn't exist would have inevitably caused problems later on. As for the spying... if they'd known they were being watched, Hermione doubted they would have been so free with their words or actions. Looking at Tom, who was fairly vibrating with rage, Hermione realized he was about to do something rash.

"Tom," Hermione said in a soft but firm voice.

The scowling boy turned and fixed her with an indignant look. Standing, Hermione laid a hand on his arm and pleaded with her eyes for him to understand. Their truce was yet a fragile thing and he had little reason to trust her judgment but she had try. For a long moment, Hermione thought he would ignore her mute appeal. Riddle was clearly infuriated that she would dare interfere but slowly she could see his control over his temper return. He nodded sharply before shrugging off her hand and returning to his chair.

"I understand why you did it, Headmaster, but it is difficult not to be angry. There is only so far that we can be pushed and we've found our limit. If there is anything you haven't told us... now would be a good time to tell us," Hermione said, in a cold tone she'd never though she would use on the Headmaster.

"You'll be glad to know that there is nothing more I am concealing up my sleeve," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling. "Why don't we discuss the operation of the bond?"

That they didn't quite believe Dumbledore went without saying. The Headmaster seemed to sense that and his eyes gleamed all the more. He began with a more elaborate outline of the bond's history before delving into the more practical aspects. Hermione found the history fascinating but rather typical of Roman Wizarding culture. The different Houses and factions were constantly feuding and without ironclad alliances and contracts, they might have wiped themselves out totally. She just wished the bond was a little less restrictive.

"So we can't be more than a mile apart in any direction?" Hermione verified.

"That is correct. I realize that this might be difficult at certain times and there are certain methods of extending the distance for a short time. I will show you those shortly."

"Exactly how is our proximity enforced? Are we physically incapable of moving further?" Tom questioned.

"Ah, I was expecting one of you to ask that. I think the best way to answer that is through a demonstration. Why don't we adjourn to the lake."

Once they had assembled by the lakeshore, Dumbledore instructed them walk away from each other in a line, along the bank. They were to keep walking as far as they could. Hermione did this without complaint, curious as to what would happen once they reached the end of their metaphysical tether.

After a few minutes of walking, she began to feel edgy. Soon the feeling bloomed into full-fledged nervousness. Her stomach twisted and cramped with nausea and her heart began to palpitate. There was something nagging at her as if she'd forgotten something she desperately needed. Breath coming in gasps, Hermione forced herself forward, whimpering at the effort. Desperately, she wanted to rush the other way but she pushed herself onward. Merlin, she had to turn back! Unable to help herself, Hermione spun and dashed back the way she came.

The horrible feeling gripping her seemed to magnify, just as it promised to ease, but she couldn't stop moving. Then, finally she collided with something. Instinctively she grabbed out at what she'd stumbled into and suddenly the world righted itself. Relief washed through her and she sobbed as she clung to the source of her comfort. Panting from the strength of the release, she slowly regained control of her faculties. When she did, Hermione realized she was clinging to Tom's robes. Her face prickled with embarrassment but if he hadn't been bruising her ribs with his embrace, she would have been far more humiliated. As one they pulled away and looked away.

"I think you understand that particular property of the bond," Dumbledore said with aplomb.

Trying to ignore the fact she'd been clinging to a teen Voldemort as if he was her teddy bear, Hermione fixed her gaze steadfastly on Dumbledore. Her head clear, she began to analyze what she'd felt. It was very similar to a panic or anxiety attack. She guessed that it had begun as they passed the mile mark until the bond had compelled them back. That it hadn't eased until they'd made physical contact was very telling.

"We had to touch to end the induced panic," Hermione began with a blush. "Is that because of the bond's foundation in sex and blood magic?"

"As insightful as always, Miss Granger. It is not physical contact precisely that ends the panic. Rather, physical contact is the medium through which your magic blends."

"That suggests that if there was another way to transfer our magical auras, then we could more easily exceed the mile mark," Tom replied quickly.

"You are correct, Tom, but it is only temporary and will greatly exhaust you. You might also have noticed that the symptoms of separation can be withstood to a degree, allowing you greater freedom at a price. That is what you must learn to do first."

The dismay she clearly saw on Riddle's face matched her own. What she'd just experienced had been thoroughly unpleasant. It was not something she wanted to repeat anytime soon. The necessity of it, however, was self-evident. They had to control the bond, rather than the reverse. If they didn't, then they would have to rush back to touch each other the moment they accidentally moved further than a mile away.

With resolve, she let Dumbledore put them through their paces. He had them move to various distances outside the mile mark and stay there for increasing amounts of time before they were allowed to turn back. By the time he was done with them, Hermione was a sweating, shaking mess. Even Riddle looked worse for wear, his customary unruffled exterior nowhere to be seen. At least they had come to endure an additional distance with better control. The embarrassing clutching had reduced in frequency too. Now all that they needed was a far more dignified holding of hands to end the panic.

"I think you both deserve a good rest. We've worked past lunch and you'll need your strength for tonight. After classes are done for the day, you'll need to make an appearance at dinner. I intend to introduce Mr Riddle to the rest of Hogwarts. Then Professor Snape will continue your instruction."

"What will he be teaching us?" Hermione asked.

"I'm sure he'll tell you, Miss Granger. We'll continue on tomorrow morning. Just keep in mind that you will only be able to exceed the mile limit to the bond if you are both willing to allow it," Dumbledore replied with a significant look towards Tom.

Wearily, Hermione nodded, purposefully ignoring the subtle message that accompanied Dumbledore's parting remark. Together they made their way back to the castle and their rooms. They were both too tired to talk or argue, which Hermione was grateful for. Her whole body ached and she felt strangely numb after so much emotional upheaval. Back in her rooms she flopped on the bed. With great effort she managed to set her alarm for a half an hour before dinner before she collapsed into sleep.

From the stiffness of Riddle's shoulders, he had not forgotten the awkward side effects they'd experienced earlier in the day. The few short hours they'd had to rest seemed to only highlight their earlier activities. The hugging and whimpering were not among Hermione's favorite recollections, either, but she had given up fretting about it. They had both made fools of themselves and it wasn't as if they'd had a choice. Not to mention that they'd probably have to do it again under Dumbledore's direction. Alas, Riddle, ever mindful of his dignity, was not so accepting of what happened.

"Oh relax, would you!" Hermione growled in frustration. "I won't mention it if you don't."

"Easy for you to say, I'm sure you're quite loose with your charms," Riddle replied acidly.

That did it.

"I'd think you'd know very well that isn't the case. If you can deal with Dumbledore and the other professors watch us shag, you can get over a little hugging!" Hermione barked defensively

"Figures you'd be an exhibitionist," Riddle growled shiftily.

"You're unbelievable! I can't believe this bad mood of yours is because of that. What is it that you're really upset about?" Hermione snarled back, sensing something else was bugging the young Slytherin.

"Dumbledore's office."

Hermione rocked back on her heels. With everything that had happened since, she'd almost forgotten. The tight tone of Tom's response made her want to twitch uncomfortably. Had she overstepped herself and their truce? That he had gone along with her request suggested that she hadn't but of course the prickly boy wouldn't let it go easily, particularly not after their ego bruising lessons in controlling the bond. Biting her lip, Hermione wondered if he had ever differed to someone else's judgment before. Surely he'd had to- Professors if no one else?

"Ah," Hermione replied with a lack of finesse.

"Yes, 'ah'!" Riddle replied crossly. "What possessed you to think that you could interrupt me?"

"You were about to lose your temper."

"Whether I lose my temper or not, is none of your business."

"It is when you might do something unforgivable," Hermione retorted.

"Do you really think I lack such self-control!"

"Yes!" Hermione yelled.

The straining muscles of Riddle's jaw made Hermione's teeth ache in sympathy.

"You're a bossy, sanctimonious fool just like your precious Headmaster!" Riddle bit out.

"And you're a hypocritical, egomaniac with a chip on his shoulder!"

They both paused, their anger fizzling out. Exactly how they'd degenerated into childish name-calling, Hermione didn't know. They'd been sniping at each other all day to relieve their frustration but what had just come out of their mouths was outrageous. Abashed by what's she'd said, Hermoine prayed it had been the side effect of the bond. Not that the argument had been particularly mature in the first place.

"Feel better now?" Hermione asked dryly.

"A little," Riddle admitted, sharing her self-depreciating tone.

"We better leave. Dinner will begin soon," Hermione muttered uncomfortably.

"And we wouldn't want to disappoint Dumbledore," Riddle acquiesced reluctantly.

They entered the Great Hall side by side. The whole population of Hogwarts was soon staring at the unfamiliar presence within the heart of the ancient school. With the paranoia engendered by the war, any new arrival was looked upon with great suspicion. Tension seemed to reverberate through the Hall and more than a few hands reached for concealed wands. Hermione found it disconcerting. Riddle seemed to take the attention as if it was his due. With a lopsided smile, Hermione reminded herself it had been his dream to inspire fear from the wizarding population.

Dumbledore stood and moved to welcome them, neatly defusing any possibility for conflict. They were promptly led to the Head Table where Hermione took her usual seat and Tom was directed to the Head Boy's chair. Several professors nodded in greeting, which told Hermione that Dumbledore had already informed them of Riddle's fabricated reason for being at Hogwarts.

"Attention everyone," Dumbledore spoke up. "I would like to introduce you to Mr Tom Riddle. He is here to do complete a research project in Defense of the Dark Arts. I sure you'll make him welcome."

Students obediently clapped when Dumbledore indicated. Hermione could see Harry, Ron and Ginny scowl and whisper but they did nothing to indicate Riddle's presence was anything unusual. A sliver of apprehension Hermione wasn't even aware she'd been feeling, eased. Snatching a glance to Riddle who was sitting beside her, she saw him coolly survey the House tables. A casual observer would never have noticed the special interest he paid to the Slytherin table, but Hermione saw it.

Whether his interest in Slytherin House was of concern or not, Hermione couldn't tell. A multitude of reasons for his attention could be found. Hermione wondered if it was wise to assume the worst. Then again a little paranoia never hurt anyone, especially when dealing with someone well on the way to becoming a Dark Lord. She would have to watch and see if he tried to get into contact with anyone. A revival of the Death Eaters was the last thing she needed.

"I would also like to announce that our Head Girl is going to be completing a project of her own. With the expert help of Professor McGonagall, Miss Granger will attempt the animagus transformation," Dumbledore continued.

Another round of polite applause filled the hall. This time her friends' applause were wholehearted. Hermione couldn't help but smile. They knew very well she was already an animagus. So were the boys and Ginny had resolved to complete her own transformation by the end of her seventh year. Still, it was nice to have their support.

"Now, enjoy your meal and have a good evening," Dumbledore finished and food appeared at all of the tables.

Knowing that Snape ate quickly and would want to begin their lessons as soon as he finished, Hermione ate lightly. The food was as wonderful as always but she found she couldn't appreciate it. Hermione hoped that whatever Snape had in store for them wasn't as physically demanding as their earlier lesson. Her nap had restored her energy somewhat but she was still tired. As she finished the last bite of her berry tart, Snape flounced his way towards them.

"I expect you in my office immediately. Don't dawdle."

"Is he always so unpleasant?" Riddle asked as they hurriedly excused themselves.

"Usually he's worse. I suspect you won't be his favorite person," Hermione replied.

"Oh?"

"He was a Death Eater."

"Snape was one of mine and Dumbledore let him teach?" Tom asked incredulously.

"He was Dumbledore's spy," Hermione corrected.

"So he is a traitor," Tom said flatly.

"I really, really suggest you don't say that to his face," Hermione said with wide eyes.

"Afraid of that poor excuse for a Slytherin?"

"Professor Snape knows how to keep a grudge and he can be very unpleasant if he chooses. Don't underestimate him, Riddle. We don't need to complicate our lives further."

"Pity. He looks as if he knows how to use his wand."

"You want to duel Snape?" Hermione asked in shock.

"I admit it occurred to me. I can recognize the Dark Arts in him and I find myself curious."

Hermione found it difficult to restrain her misgivings. From experience, she knew that Snape was a very vicious dueler. He had helped train Harry, Ron, Ginny and herself and even after their training was complete, only Harry had been able to defeat the potions master regularly. Hermione still found him a challenge. A part of her was curious to see how the once future Dark Lord would do, pitted against a man who had survived years of service to his older self.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Hermione cautioned.

"Probably not, but where is your Gryffindor sense of adventure?" Riddle sneered.

"Where's your Slytherin sense of caution?" Hermione retorted.

Any reply Riddle might have made was lost as Snape appeared from within his office, glowering and irritated. Hermione prayed that he'd not heard their full conversation. She suspected that Riddle wouldn't be able to help himself when it came to Professor Snape. If she wasn't mistaken, he considered Snape something of a challenge. By the way Snape was scowling at Riddle, the feelings were reciprocated. Hermione only hoped she would be able to avoid the fallout.

"I said not to dawdle. Gossiping in the corridors like first years, qualifies dawdling," Professor Snape drawled with malice.

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione replied, knowing there was no argument they could make that would divert his bile.

"Get in and sit down," Snape demanded.

"Yes, sir," Hermione spoke up again before Riddle could open his mouth.

Snape's office had a sense of permanence that Dumbledore's did not. The walls were bare of tapestries or portraits and radiated chill. Without padding or embellishment, the furniture was austere and impersonal. Except for the odd addition to the collection of embalmed creatures, the potion's professor did not suffer alterations to his carefully organized domain. Hermione found herself longing for the cheerful chaos of Dumbledore's office.

"You are here to learn the foundation on which your later work with the bond will be based upon," Snape pronounced.

"And what, pray tell, is that?" Tom asked with the slightest hint of challenge.

"Watch your lip, Mr Riddle. I will not tolerate insolence. What you will be learning is how to focus and draw upon your magic. Miss Granger is already familiar with some of these techniques. I will have to ascertain where your understanding is lacking."

"I think you will find that my... understanding is quite adequate."

Tom's purr promised bad things. A shiver went up Hermione's spine. The two men eyed each other with glacial defiance. Hermione wanted to bury her face in her hands and groan. The conflict she'd dreaded was now a certainty. She just hoped that seven years of potions with Harry had tempered her endurance enough for her to deal with _two_ pigheaded Slytherins. Finally the staring contest ended with a draw and Snape began to pace the length of the room as he lectured.

The subject of the lecture was familiar to Hermione. In her third year, she had read the theory of sensing, focusing and then drawing on magic. Such abilities could enhance many forms of magic and so Hermione had done her best to teach herself how to do it. It wasn't until the summer between the sixth and seventh year that she'd been tutored in it formally. Her rudimentary abilities had blossomed and Hermione had been surprised by how much of a difference it could make. It also helped her to grow into her magic faster than most, something much needed in a war.

"Now, I want you to both draw and hold your magic."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione closed her eyes focused herself inward. Her mind obeyed and she could feel the pulse of life within her body. Easing deeper within herself she felt the hum of her magic. It welled from deep within her soul, silken against her mental caress. Immersing her awareness into the quicksilver pool of her magic, Hermione drew it outward until she opened her eyes once more. As always it felt as if she had been gone far longer than the barest instant the mental journey had really taken.

Filled with her magic, if she concentrated, Hermione would be able to see the glow of Professor Snape's wards and the residue left from spilled potions and old spells. Not wanting to be distracted, Hermione refrained. Finally, Hermione turned to Riddle and her breath caught.

Only the strongest of wizards and witches had physical manifestations of their magic. Such manifestations were rare and usually only occurred when the witch or wizard was drawing significantly on their power. Even then, most only manifested when using their magic in the area they were most talented. That was why Professor Snape had greasy hair when making potions and Kingsley Shacklebolt seemed to radiate warmth when dueling.

Manifestations that were present to a degree when a witch or wizard wasn't channeling their magic were something very different. That was the indication of a truly great degree of power. When developed to the highest extent, such manifestations would become permanent. That was why Dumbledore's eyes always seemed to twinkle. Until now, Hermione hadn't realized that Voldemort's red eyes were his manifestation. She had simply assumed that they were the result of the magical transformations he'd gone through. She now chastised herself for not realizing sooner.

The crimson orbs that regarded her curiosity sent a chill up her spine. All too clearly she remembered the flecks of red that remained in Tom's eyes even when he wasn't channeling his magic. Snape was not so unaffected either. He had paled a little before hiding behind a sneer. Calming herself, Hermione ran a hand through her hair. The spark and flash of electricity followed the path of her hand. Riddle's eyes traced the movement with interest.

Hermione had been much chagrined when she'd found out her manifestation was her hair. She had always been self-conscious of the wild mane that refused to be tamed except by the strongest of charms. According to Dumbledore the reason it was so bushy was because it was the beginnings of a permanent manifestation. That news had both embarrassed and pleased her. She would never have Dumbledore's, or even Harry's level of raw power but if she developed her magic, it would be nothing to sneer at.

"So that's why it's always such a mess," Riddle remarked.

"Better than a glorified case of pink eye," Hermione bit out.

"Enough! You'll keep your foolish bickering out of my classroom," Snape interrupted.

Abashed at how her tongue had, yet again, gotten away from her, Hermione forced her attention back to the professor. He guided them through a series of more complex exercises meant to build control of their magic. They had to draw and release different amounts of energy and then direct it to their hands, feet or whatever body part Snape could think of. Then they had to focus on making their auras visible and retract and extend them.

Snape watched them all the while with beady, avaricious eyes, waiting for the slightest mistake. It made the whole procedure an even more daunting trial, for all her experience with Snape's looming presence. During the lesson, Riddle seemed to take great pleasure in performing perfectly. This, combined with Riddles overly innocent expression, made Snape all the more irritable and determined to see Riddle falter. By the time they were released, Hermione was teetering on the brink of absolute collapse.

The journey back to their rooms was completed in the haze of exhaustion. Several times they stumbled but dazedly they kept each other upright and moving forward. So great was their fatigue, they didn't hear the quiet scuff of shoes on flagstone. Nor did Hermione notice the familiar whisper of fabric particular to an invisibility cloak.


	8. Part 8

Author's Note: I would like to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed my story. While it is my firm belief that writers should write for the joy of it and not reviews, I would by lying if I said I didn't appreciate them greatly. As this site does not allow me to respond individually, I must keep this brief. If you wish me to respond more in-depth to any your review or to any questions you have, I would be happy to do so on my mailing list. A link can be found in my bio.

Part 8

Upon waking, her whole body felt as if it had been put through several bouts of the Cruciatus. Hermione ached everywhere and her head had pounded with her every heartbeat. Riddle had been in a similar state, evidenced by the general lack of biting comments, or conversation at all, during their journey to Dumbledore's office. When Dumbledore told them they wouldn't be working on improving their ability endure separation, Hermione had almost cheered with relief. The potions Dumbledore had given them barely took the edge off their pain but it had been enough to make Hermione regret getting out of bed at all. Her regret only deepened after she learned the new exercise Dumbledore was going to put them through.

Reliving the delights of the levitation charm was a subtle form of torture. Of course it had been more interesting when their feathers jerked and swooped around the room. The increase in magical power the bond gave, might have been advantageous in the long run, but they had to relearn their control. Over and over they had cast the spell, gauging just how much effort to put into the spell. Then they progressed to casting the spell minus the incantation. From the extreme lack of control they'd shown over their magic, Hermione had been very glad indeed, they hadn't tried casting anything before now.

Hermione was glad to see that after several hours of frustrating practice, they had begun to accustom themselves to the change in their magical equilibrium. Now that she wasn't concentrating her spellwork, Hermione was beginning to notice something else. At first she had thought it was the rush of additional power that sent tingles racing through her. Then she realized it wasn't tied to her own casting but Riddle's. Every time he muttered 'wingardium leviosa', gooseflesh peppered her skin and Hermione shivered. It wasn't a physical sensation alone but instead a tremor that moved through her magic. Curious, Hermione cast the spell again as Riddle paused for a moment.

"Now I know that wasn't a draft," Riddle remarked with a raised brow.

"No, it was me," Hermione replied.

"You?" Riddle repeated with surprise. "Do it again."

Obediently, for once, Hermione levitated her feather and Riddle shivered. He frowned and matched her actions. When she shuddered and rubbed at her arms, he regarded her with calculating interest. Shifting uneasily, Hermione looked up at Dumbledore who was pretending to do paperwork at his desk. He peeked up at her and winked. Riddle caught the glance and snorted.

"It seems we're on our own to puzzle this out," Riddle said.

"Somehow I think this was the real point of the lesson," Hermione said tartly.

"We had best work out what it is. It is distracting and that could be potentially lethal."

There were forms of magic that required perfect concentration. The slightest falter could cause explosive consequences or potentially lethal backlash. Bound as they were, any mistake would affect them both. It wouldn't be pleasant to be on the receiving end of a miscast spell because one of them cast a simple cleaning spell in the other room. That wasn't even considering the many other situations where a distraction could pose unpleasant side-effects, ranging from lethal to simply irritating.

"It's obviously caused by the bond. I've never felt anything like this before. Whenever you cast, it's like a ripple goes through my magic," Hermione considered.

"I agree with how it feels, particularly now that I am paying attention to it, but I have felt something similar."

"Oh? What?"

"A group of Slytherins had an interest in ritual magic. I was one of them and we did several group workings. When they performed their parts in the ritual, I had some sense of what they were doing magically. It wasn't this intense, though," Tom elaborated cautiously.

"You mean a group of your Death Eaters," Hermione clarified, refusing to let him conceal the details.

"I hadn't begun to call them that but yes."

"Did it last outside of the ritual?" Hermione questioned.

"No. One it ended I felt nothing from the others. I was the focus of the others magic so if anyone would have felt anything it would have been me," Riddle replied with a shrug.

"I assume they were directing their magic into you and you focused the intent?"

"We followed the standard form," Riddle confirmed.

"Hmm, then it's not quite the same. We share power equally."

"You assume we do. I already know I am more powerful," Tom replied with easy arrogance and a tinge of satisfaction.

"I know you are magically stronger but the amount of power shared is still equal," Hermione replied, not taking the bait.

That Riddle did not argue indicated that he was forced to agree. Dumbledore had told them the bond bound them equally. Yesterday's experiments had only proved that as they had suffered to the same degree. Finally, if the bond allowed them to repress the others magic, then the bond had to allow equal power sharing. Hermione bit her lip in concentration. It made sense for them to feel the others use of magic. She just wasn't sure if there was a way to stop it.

"What are you thinking about, Granger?"

"Whether there is a way to block what we're feeling," Hermione sighed.

The likelihood of that was low in Tom's opinion. He was flirting with the possibility that the bond had created more of a connection that Dumbledore had anticipated. He'd told the girl the truth when he'd recounted his experiences with ritual magic. The similarities to what he'd felt were intriguing indeed. His curiosity raged inside of him and Tom thought longingly of the Hogwarts library. If his suspicions were correct, the bond could be more of an asset than he'd dreamed.

One of the drawbacks to ritual magic was that it was difficult to create the connections between the participants necessary to harness their combined magic. The way this was accomplished was laborious and intricate. Ritual magic did not lend itself to spur of the moment casting the way modern spells did. If Tom was right, the bond between him and the Granger girl could hypothetically get around the first drawback to ritual magic. What he could accomplish with both his magic and that of the surprisingly powerful mudblood, made him breathless with anticipation. Of course, he'd have to convince her to experiment, first.

"Possibly not and if not, can we learn to live with it?" Riddle spoke up.

"I think you will both find that you can minimize the sensation," Dumbledore said as he strolled closer.

"Decided to finally dispense your wisdom, old man?" Riddle coolly asked.

"If you're willing to listen," Dumbledore said with amusement at the tetchy response. "You'll find that your sensitivity to the other's magic should reduce with time. The ability will remain to some degree, however."

"How do you mean?" Hermione asked curiously.

"The bond is such that your magic is connected intimately. What happens to one will have some effect on the other. Furthermore, you will find that if you channel your magic, your ability to sense the other's magic is magnified," Dumbledore explained.

"What does that mean precisely?" Riddle asked with narrowed eyes. "If Granger is hexed will I feel it too?"

"Nothing to that degree, Tom. Only very powerful magic will carry over noticeably," Dumbledore reassured them. "Professor Snape has told me of your progress. I dear say that you are adept enough to learn how refine that ability and shield yourself from the majority of what you're sensing. Then you will try some spells of greater difficulty and power to see how successful you are."

True to his word, Dumbledore pushed them until they were once again exhausted. The techniques that Dumbledore had taught them went beyond what Hermione had read about. It was also new to Tom, if she read his look of intense concentration correctly. The shielding in particular had been tricky. All wizards had a natural shield around their magic. Under Dumbledore's instruction they had to strengthen that protection but it wasn't quite so simple.

The very nature of the bond was such, that they could not block each other fully. Naturally, that had naturally been the first things they'd both tried. When they had, they'd been dismayed to find they experienced similar reactions to when they had first moved further apart than a mile. This was yet another thing Dumbledore had let them find out the hard way.

By the time lunch arrived, they were capable of casting fifth year spells without much more than the barest of tingle. Anything more advanced of powerful, caused a varying degree of response in their magic. Hermione was learning to ignore the feel of Tom's magic but it would be nice when they learned to fine tune their shields.

Over sandwiches ordered from the kitchen, Dumbledore advised them to keep practicing different spells and to improve their shielding so that it became second nature. The Headmaster then released them with the reminder that Snape would require them after dinner.

* * *

Hermione's nap was interrupted by the inhabitant of their portrait's insistent clearing of her throat. The witch's peevish glare suggested that she'd been trying to get Hermione's attention for some time. Resolutely, Hermione dragged herself from her bed and with a wave of her wand, the wrinkles in her clothing disappeared. She had fallen asleep fully dressed the second her body made contact with her mattress.

"What is it Lady Heloise?"

"Your friend Virginia is here to see you," Heloise replied.

"Oh, please, let her in," Hermione replied, remembering Ginny's desire to speak to her.

The portrait nodded and began her way back to her frame. Hermione ran her fingers through her hair as she went to greet her friend. She felt a pang of uncertainty when she saw Riddle's lanky form sprawled on the chair by the fire. Thankfully, it seemed that he was as dead to the world as she'd been several minutes before. Just as she turned to the portrait entrance, Ginny stepped through. The girl stiffened as her eyes set upon the boy responsible for the misery of her first year.

"Don't wake him," Hermione said in a soft voice, hoping to circumvent any explosions from her friend. "We can go into my room."

"I wouldn't bother, Granger. Whatever spell you cast already woke me up."

With growing concern, Hermione watched as Riddle recognized just who was standing at the doorway. A positively vulpine grin worked its ways across Riddle's face. With the speed she was becoming known for, Ginny pulled out her wand and sent a gut-wrencher towards Riddle. It hit and Tom doubled over as the curse forcibly tore at his insides. Ginny's face was a strange mix of vindication and terror. The curse she'd used only caused temporary pain, unlike its Darker cousins, but Hermione knew from experience it wasn't a pleasant curse.

"Oh, it seems my little kitten has grown some claws."

"You probably deserved that, Tom," Hermione sighed, edging towards Ginny whose wand hand was shaking.

"That I did," Tom agreed with deceptive laziness.

His eyes hardened and he moved towards Ginny with a measured stalk. Looming over the petite redhead, Riddle leant in. Under her freckles, Ginny paled a little before anger sent red infusing her cheeks. Hermione's hand slipped to her wand but she did not advance more. Riddle and Ginny shared a history that she didn't fully understand and Hermione knew instinctively that neither would appreciate it if she interfered. Not that she would hesitate if Ginny was truly threatened. Belatedly, Hermione realized she'd do the same for Riddle. She was rather familiar with Ginny's handiness with curses and Ginny certainly had a reason to use them.

"I'll let that one pass, for old time's sake, Ginny-dearest. Just remember that I don't need to place nice anymore."

"Riddle," Hermione cautioned, unable to standby any longer.

"Don't worry, Granger. I'll be a good boy. Go chat and I'll visit the library."

What Tom Riddle might get up to in the library, or more accurately, the Restricted Section, Hermione refused to contemplate. Instead she nodded and let him go without argument. Separating them as soon a possible, sounded like a very good idea. To her puzzlement, Ginny seemed to only grow all the more angry with Riddle out of the room. As the other girl's mouth opened, Hermione braced herself for an outburst.

"You're just letting him go!"

"It's better than seeing how long you two can go before getting into a fight," Hermione replied sharply.

"I would have been fine. Who knows what he'll do on his own! Besides, you have no idea how long I've wanted to hex his pretty face off!"

"Let me guess- since your first year?"

"You know what I mean!" Ginny spat.

"What I know, is that I don't want to deal with a cranky Tom Riddle," Hermione retorted.

"So you take his side!"

"Ginny!" Hermione said with reproach.

The younger girl struggled with waves of conflicting emotion for a moment before deflating. For a second, it looked as if Ginny was about to cry before she shoved away her tears with bravery Godric Gryffindor would have been proud of. Hermione took her friend's shaking hands and squeezed them reassuringly. Dearly, she wished that the first meeting between Tom and Ginny had taken place under better circumstances.

"Oh, Hermione, I didn't mean that," Ginny cried. "I'm sorry, he just makes me so mad. I saw him and it all came back."

"I'm sorry too. I didn't think he'd be out here," Hermione said.

"Well, I was the one who couldn't wait to confront him. I should have remembered how bloody creepy he is. I don't know how you can do it," Ginny said with a not so fake shiver.

The truth was that Hermione hadn't seen Riddle act like that before. They had argued but he'd never threatened her the way he had Ginny. It was a chilling reminded of exactly who he really was. Hermione felt a little discomforted with how easily she'd been able to forget. It also made her dread the inevitable meeting between Riddle and Harry. Feeling her headache increase a notch in intensity, Hermione sunk into the chair Riddle had so recently occupied. Ginny followed her example and sat across from her.

"Will you be alright? With him being around?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not letting him intimidate me. You're my friend and I'm not going to abandon you."

"That's not what I meant, Ginny," Hermione said softly.

"I know. I could have dealt with that better. I thought I was ready. When Dumbledore told me what happened..." Ginny drifted off, caught in recollection. "I knew it was my chance to put it all behind me. Then I saw him and I- I just felt so scared and that made me angry. I swore to myself that I'd never let myself feel like that again. I'm not sorry I hexed him, Hermione. I'm not."

"I don't expect you to be."

"Thanks but I'll try not to start a duel next time," Ginny said with a small brittle laugh.

"How are classes?" Hermione finally asked, knowing that for now the subject was closed.

"Pretty boring. Everyone has given up learning anything with the end of the year coming up," Ginny sighed.

"What you're learning now is as important as anything taught at the beginning of the year," Hermione found herself saying.

"I know but I can't wait until I can go home. This year feels like it's lasted forever," Ginny groused.

"The idea of home is nice," Hermione admitted.

"Merlin, Hermione. How are you going to cope with Riddle in the middle of a muggle neighborhood?"

"Ah, well, Mr Suave made an appearance while my parents were visiting," Hermione said and rolled her eyes. "I think Riddle realized he'd be at the mercy of my parents and has resolved to charm them into submission."

"Now that's something I would have given my last knut to see. Just don't let him get away with it."

"Don't worry; my parents weren't too convinced. Dumbledore told them who he was."

"I known but knowing is different from believing," Ginny spoke in an undertone. "He's good, Hermione. He can make you forget all your doubts."

Hermione flinched a little at Ginny's words. Hadn't she just reprimanded herself for forgetting, if only for a little while? Uncertainty made her stomach twist. Just where was the line between getting along with him because she had to and being lulled into complacency? Was there one? Suddenly, she was very glad that Ginny had stopped by.

"He got to you, didn't he?" Ginny breathed in sudden realization.

"Would you believe I don't know?" Hermione admitted.

"Then he has."

"It's not that simple," Hermione said. "We have to get along, compromise, so we don't end up going mad."

"So you've told me," Ginny murmured stiffly.

"That's not fair, Ginny. How else should I handle this?"

"Buggered if I know but... don't let yourself get too comfortable."

"You've hit upon the exact problem."

"Come on, he can't be that easy to live with," Ginny snorted.

"He's not but they say you can get used to just about anything," Hermione said sardonically.

"You just need to keep your guard up. Don't let yourself, or him, get complacent."

"How do you mean?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Don't let him put you in a box. Keep him guessing and don't let him think you're easy to dupe."

"This has to do with what you said the other night. About challenging him?" Hermione clarified.

"When I began writing in the diary, he was very charming," Ginny began. "He learned just what to say to put me off guard and to manipulate me. I became less than a person and more like one of your muggle machines. All had to do was press the right buttons and I'd perform. If you keep him on his toes, he won't be able to do that."

The interactions of the last few days returned to haunt Hermione. Was that what he'd done? Without a doubt they were learning more about each other. Already she'd learned enough to appeal to his common sense in order to pull him back from a full rage. Could he do something similar with her? What if he had already? She'd certainly been more than happy to have him make the first move after their argument. He'd been the one to set the terms of their truce. She'd just sat there and agreed. That thought made her stomach begin to cramp again.

"I think you're overestimating me, Ginny. I'm not that hard to read and he's better at this than I ever will be."

"Don't say that, Hermione!" Ginny cried. "Riddle is a bully. A good one, maybe, but that's what he is. You've never backed down from a bully before."

"I'm no going to," Hermione began and then paused to collect her thoughts. "It's only that things aren't so clear-cut. Alienating him isn't my plan."

"You have to tolerate each other, not be friends," Ginny argued.

"Yes but it's more than that. What you're saying, I have to keep every advantage and to keep Riddle's hands tied. If I do that..."

"If you do that, what? I think that is exactly what you should do!"

The venom in Ginny's voice made Hermione's heart ache. It reminded her that was exactly what Tom had done to Ginny through the Diary. He had completely controlled Ginny until she was nothing more than his puppet. Hermione didn't blame Ginny for hating Riddle or even wanting revenge on him. It did, however, cast what her friend had said to her in a different light.

She had been right to question herself. Hermione knew she wasn't the consummate manipulator that Riddle was, but Ginny was wrong. Forcing Tom into a situation where he had no control what-so-ever would be counterproductive. There was no way Hermione could contain him like that for long and he would do everything he could to escape. What would happen then was better not contemplated. She had been right to discard that as an option.

The difficulty was that Hermione still being eaten alive by her niggling doubts. At first, she'd hoped that she could confide in Ginny. She had been quickly disabused of that notion. In her own way Ginny was more uncertain than she was. Desperately, Hermione wished for a sounding board that was something resembling neutral. In the meantime, she had to calm Ginny who looked like she was about to go on the rampage.

"Treating him like a rabid dog will only make him act like one," Hermione reasoned.

"You don't try to cure a mad dog, you kill it before it kills you!"

"Or you cage it, so it can't hurt anyone," Hermione spoke with certainty. "My job is to supply a cage we can both live with."

"Hermione do you have any idea what you just said sounds like?" Ginny blurted. "Do you really think he'll play by the same rules?"

"I don't. I fully expect him to try to manipulate me. I'm scared to death that he'll succeed but if I play by his rules I know I'll fail."

"I think you're mad," Ginny muttered.

"Then I'm mad but even wonder why Dumbledore did this?"

"Of course I have. He chained my friend to a monster!"

"He did it for the same reasons I've just told you. Riddle is far more dangerous when he has nothing to lose. Give him some degree of control and he'll fight to keep it."

"Fine. I still think you shouldn't be so concerned with making nice. At least you're not like Lavender or Parvati. If you were then I'd accuse you of being dazzled by his good looks."

Hermione blushed. Under the love potion she'd been exceedingly dazzled. How Snape could brew something that provoked emotions that put sappy romance novel clichés to shame, she didn't know. Thankfully her judgment had returned after the potion wore off.

"He could be a male equivalent of a Veela, for all the good it would do him," Hermione replied in quelling tone.

"Okay, then maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm worrying too much. I'm here for you and if he gets past both of us, we'll have Harry hex him," Ginny teased with a stiffness that showed the effort it took her.

"Thanks," Hermione chuckled.

"Seriously, my dear bookworm, I might have been wrong," Ginny replied with honesty, despite her light tone. "I see Tom and all I want to do is hex him until his eyeballs pop but I'm not the one stuck with the prat. Do what you have to but just remember there is life outside of Tom Riddle."

"I'll have to remember that threat if he ticks me off in the future," Hermione replied and the two girls giggled.

According to unspoken agreement the two girls chatted about less serious subjects. To Hermione it was a balm to her fragile nerves. She didn't really find Quidditch scores or who was dating who, all that enthralling but she hung on every word. It was nice to remember that not everything was life or death. When the lunch period was over, Hermione shooed Ginny from the common room.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione savored blessed solitude. Bonded as she was with Riddle, Hermione was well aware that such moments would be rare. It might not last long but she would enjoy it while she could. She figured that with Riddle safely occupied in the library she would have at least a few precious hours. A quick accio later and two items came zooming towards her. The first was a collection of short stories she'd been reading when she'd had the time. The second was a bag of dark Honeydukes chocolate. Taking a piece, she opened her book and began to read.

* * *

The appearance of Harry Potter as he rounded the corner was so clichéd, Tom was tempted to laugh. It was the simmering threat in those eyes that stopped him. Instead, Tom leant into the bookshelf in a purposefully nonchalant pose, resisting the urge to move his hand closer to his wand. Tom refused to let the wretched Potter boy that he had gained from him a good measure of caution. In the Chamber he had made a mistake. Who would have thought a twelve year old boy, would have posed a serious risk to his plans when he had Slytherin's basilisk under his command?

"I see you're as curious as ever."

"Not this time, Riddle. I know all I need to but I wonder if Hermione does," Harry replied deftly.

"Is this where you threaten me, if I harm one hair on your mudblood's head?"

"This is where I tell you that while Hermione has other in her corner, you're standing alone. Take that under consideration when you make your move."

"I am almost flattered that you think I have a dastardly plot up my sleeve," Tom replied coolly, inwardly seething.

"Don't you?"

Flat and uncompromising, Potter's tone of voice dared him to argue. Tom felt his respect for the boy rise. So he wasn't just luck and bluster. Then again, it had been five years since their first meeting. This ridiculous confrontation had clearly been planned. The boy's inference to friends suggested Ginny's timely visit wasn't so coincidental. Tom felt his lips contort into a sneer. He'd deal with that silly little girl later but for now he had to concentrate on Potter. Convincing Potter he only had good intentions towards Granger was a waste of time. Perhaps a partial truth would do.

"I have plans to insure my future is as bearable as possible. Since we are linked together, those plans by default must include Granger."

"That's a nice way of putting it," Harry snorted contemptuously.

"Regardless, of how I put it, I have my plans and I am not going to pretend that I won't do my best to see them realized."

"You always were stubborn," Potter said with a flash of teeth.

"And you ridiculously persistent. I fail to understand how my older self could have been destroyed by such as you," Tom sneered.

"Voldemort was destroyed because he underestimated the importance of love."

"That ridiculous concept," Tom scathingly barked.

"Yet it had the power to bring together those that bested you," Potter returned.

"I doubt that was the reason I fell."

"I expected you to say something like that," Harry shrugged.

"Have you come to the point of this conversation?" Riddle sneered.

"More or less," Harry replied evenly. "I just thought you'd like to know the people who destroyed your older self... they're the ones in Hermione's corner. See you this summer, Riddle."

Tom watched until Potter disappeared amongst the stacks.

* * *

"You ought to congratulate Ginny. She did a perfect job of flushing me out in the open for Potter," Tom said with deceptive calmness. "Tell me, was this something you cooked up together?"

"What!" Hermione gasped.

Astonishment at what Riddle had announced to her had Hermione's thoughts chasing themselves in circles. The tall Slytherin's mood had proceeded him and Hermione had known something had happened the second he entered their shared common room. What it was took her unawares. She didn't want to believe him but she knew Harry's over protectiveness too well. Still, Harry had promised her, he wouldn't go after Tom! That frustrated her, especially when it had made things worse just as Hermione had guessed.

"Potter cornered me in the library."

"I didn't feel anything... so you can't have dueled," Hermione pondered.

"I'm not that stupid, Granger," came Riddle flat response.

"What makes you think Ginny had anything to do with it?"

"Maybe it was the ever so convenient timing, or perhaps it was the speech Potter made about the usefulness of friends."

"If they planned it together, I had no idea," Hermione replied honestly.

"And how can I trust you?" Tom demanded.

"You trusted me?" Hermione said with purposeful obliviousness.

"I certainly don't now."

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Hermione swore. "I had no idea Harry was going to confront you. That Ginny had to come here to distract me, only proves I had nothing to do with it."

Tom threw himself into the other chair and stole a piece of her chocolate. The theft of her one indulgence put a frown on her face but Hermione was willing to overlook it, if it would calm Riddle down. He probably didn't want her to know it but Hermione could tell that he was unnerved by his confrontation with Harry. When Harry put his mind to it, he could be rather intimidating.

"I'm sorry about Harry. He probably did it for my sake but I told him I didn't want him interfering," Hermione spoke, tentatively making peace.

"What, you didn't want someone to threaten to break my knees if I didn't treat you right?" Riddle hissed but without spite.

"Eat more chocolate," Hermione said, huffing at his sulky tone but extending her peace offering anyway.

"Girls... they don't change even after fifty years."


	9. Part 9

Part 9

Pitiful attempts by Potter to meddle aside, Tom was positively amazed with how well things were progressing. Create the façade of compliance and Granger was eating out of his palm. He had yet to test her boundaries, but he was certain he would prevail. Tom watched from the corner of his eye as she completed the exercise Dumbledore had assigned. Their week of tutelage about the bond was coming to a close. The days had passed much as their first. They were worked to exhaustion in one way or another, before they had a short night to recover before the process was repeated.

Their labor wasn't without its compensations. What they were being taught was highly advanced. Most witches and wizards never bothered to develop their magic in such a direct way. As a result, finding instruction was difficult. Indeed, he'd had to satisfy himself with the vague explanations from books. Tom was very pleased with both the depth of their instruction and their progress. They had mastered all Snape and Dumbledore had been able to throw at them.

Strangely, how to block the magic of the other hadn't been among the skills they'd been taught. That particular oversight was clearly premeditated and Tom chafed at the delay. By his estimation, they had been ready to learn for the past three days. Although Tom dearly wanted to learn that last skill, that was not what he found monopolizing his thoughts.

Hermione Granger was a contradiction. Her presence infuriated Tom but it was becoming easier to forget that. Much to his disgust he found himself becoming accustomed to his circumstances. Dare he say it, he was becoming comfortable in a mudblood's company. Hermione's conversational skill wasn't lacking and her intelligence made their arguments amusing. She was deliciously easy to enrage, although their arguments hadn't escalated as they had on the second night. How this had happened he didn't know. Cultivating Granger was _supposed _to be more revolting than it was. No longer having to play the innocent teachers' pet, Tom found himself revealing more of his true self than he had ever intended and it felt remarkably freeing.

That was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to remember what had been done to him. If he stoked the ember of his rage, then all he had to do was fan it into flames when was in a position to do so. Tom had resigned himself to the fact that his destiny was much changed. That didn't mean, however, that he would forgive. The list of slights Dumbledore had committed against his person grew longer everyday.

Using Hermione to-

"Riddle! Goodness, are you even in there?" Hermione asked irritably.

"Maybe if you didn't howl like a banshee I would be more inclined to answer," Tom retorted.

"If you'd answered me sooner I wouldn't have howled," Hermione said irritably.

"What did you want, Granger?"

"Dumbledore wants us in his office after dinner. A house elf just delivered his message."

"Hmm, maybe he'll finally teach us how to block the other's magic."

"Maybe but I thought he'd do that days ago," Hermione replied.

"Do you still think that's the real point of these lessons of his?"

"No. I'm certain he has an ulterior motive or two," Hermione replied with a smile. "Any ideas what?"

"To ensure I no longer have any plans for world domination?" Riddle sneered. "Or maybe he hopes that his taste in clothing will rub off on us through overexposure. I didn't think robes came in Hawaiian prints."

"What? Didn't you like the way the palm trees were charmed to move?"

"If I'd had to look at him any longer I would have been seasick."

Hermione gave up repressing her smile. Today's outfit had been a little much. Her eyes still burned from the garish green, orange and red. Heaving a sigh, Hermione arched her back to release the tension in her shoulders. Dumbledore had set them exercises to do before their afternoon class and any recovery she'd made after their nap was gone. Hermione was certain that she'd end up collapsed on the ground from overwork.

"Riddle, are we due to go to dinner yet?"

"We might as well go down," Riddle sighed.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to levitate me down there?" Hermione asked plaintively.

"Not unless you want to be dumped on your arse every third step," came Riddle's tired reply.

A halfhearted smile was all she could produce in response to Riddle's roundabout admission that he was just as tired. They were so exhausted that any spell requiring prolonged concentration was as daunting as one of Hercules' twelve labors. Again, Hermione wondered just what Dumbledore expected them to do this evening. Mechanically she plodded down the hall and into the Great Hall. After taking their customary seats at the High Table, Hermione concentrated on the business of eating. Nothing seemed appetizing but she forced herself to eat. With all the energy they were expending, food was essential. When Dumbledore finally tapped Hermione on the shoulder to gain her attention, she sighed and pushed aside her date pudding.

"I believe we should go to my office," Dumbledore spoke and with extreme reluctance, they followed the Head Master.

In typical Dumbledore style, they were quickly ensconced in the chairs before the Headmaster's desk and sipping cups of cocoa. Hermione wondered exactly why Dumbledore was purposefully finding reasons not to begin their lesson. Usually the kind of delaying tactics he was using were reserved for particularly annoying Ministry officials. The dotty old man routine was really getting old.

If the atmosphere in the office had been less tense, Hermione might have actually drifted off to sleep. She was pleasantly warm from the crackling hearth and the cocoa was rich and comforting. Suddenly, Hermione longed for their common room and the end to the day's trials. The impatient tap of long slender fingers on porcelain made it clear Riddle wasn't impressed either. She hadn't really expected to take Dumbledore's antics well.

Hermione could tell that Dumbledore was watching them closely. What he could see beyond exhaustion she didn't know. Whatever it was that he was hoping to find, Hermione hoped that they wouldn't have to wait much longer. Her patience was fragile to say the least. Once the mugs of cocoa were drained, the Headmaster finally stood from behind his desk.

"Now that our dinner has had a chance to settle, why don't you show me what I had you practice during your break?"

The familiar process of touching and then directing her magic washed away some of Hermione's disquiet. Under her careful control her aura grew visible and magic collected at her fingertips. Carefully, she concentrated it in her right hand and then brought her left six inches from the other. With a careful push sparks of magic arched from her right hand to the left. Hermione then reversed it so that magic collected in her left hand and arched to the right. Several minutes of that and she was panting.

What they were doing was beyond simple magic. Instead, they were condensing their magic into its raw and purest form. Then they directed it outwards and reabsorbed it into themselves. All week they had been working at the different steps involved in the process. The results spoke for themselves. Riddle's eyes were nearly fully clouded with red and her own hair crackled and snapped like a live wire.

"Very good," Dumbledore said with obvious pride. "Now cup your hands and pool your magic in them."

Hermione did as instructed and was surprised to see that Dumbledore did the same. Hesitantly, Hermione glanced at the Headmaster's eyes and found them glittering like a thousand stars. The sheer power she could feel made her stomach flip. Before now, every time Dumbledore had shown his true power, Hermione had been in the middle of battle and she'd had no time to feel the full brunt of the magic he could summon. Strangely, Hermione felt the intense desire to reach out and touch Riddle. Brought up by that strange urge, Hermione forced herself to look away from Dumbledore.

"Tell me, Miss Granger what you just felt," Dumbledore asked in an even tone as he reduced his aura.

"I-I'm not sure-"

"No need to be bashful, Hermione. It is important," Dumbledore replied gently.

"I wanted to touch Riddle," Hermione admitted in an undertone.

"I dare say that you both felt he urge to touch when I summoned my power. It is an instinctive reaction to the presence of possible danger."

"In what way?" Tom asked sharply.

"Now Tom, I know you would have guessed some of the alternate uses for a bond such as the one you and Miss Granger possess," Dumbledore chided.

The younger wizard stiffened and Hermione frowned. She wasn't a fool. Hermione had noticed Riddle's interest in how they had been able to sense the other's magic. It didn't take her long to guess that the bond could be used to argument their magic in a way that was usually reserved for ritual magic. Such magics were designed so that people could combine their magic for a single purpose. That was how Diagon Alley had been concealed from muggles and how the Founders had created Hogwarts. Ritual magic was one of the few ways that a witch or wizard might wield more magic than what they were born with.

That made the magical enhancement they'd received from the bond all the more impressive. Such increases in power usually required much more than the small price they had paid. Hermione was well aware that many witches and wizards turned to the Dark Arts for such boosts. Even then, the results were so unpredictable and dangerous that few were mad enough to try.

"What if I have?" Tom challenged.

"He wouldn't be the only one," Hermione added with a stubborn look, refusing to pretend she wasn't just as curious.

Riddle shot her a look of surprise and Hermione responded with a look the wordlessly scolded him for thinking she was that dense. The flash of frustration that passed over the Slytherin's face made Hermione grit her teeth but she purposefully turned away from Riddle and refocused her attention on Dumbledore. If Riddle wanted to argue later, he was welcome to but now wasn't the time.

"Is that why you've been working us so hard?" Hermione asked. "So we're too tired to experiment on our own?"

"I admit that was one consideration," Dumbledore replied.

"And the others?" Riddle followed up.

"Ah, well, that is what I intend to get to with today's lesson."

"Then why don't we proceed," Riddle hissed with aggravation.

"Certainly," Dumbledore agreed with infuriating cheerfulness. "Now reach out the hand that you've focused your magic into. Good, now touch hands."

The order surprised Hermione. Both Dumbledore and Snape had told them not to touch so that their concentration or the flow of their magic wouldn't be disturbed. Her mind flashed to how she'd wanted to reach out to Riddle earlier, just as their palms touched and then it was too late. Whole body jerking ridged, Hermione struggled to regain control of her mind. An excess of magic was a deluge upon her senses. It was too much, too fast and Hermione couldn't tell if it was pain or pleasure. Distantly she heard Dumbledore speak but it was nothing to the rush of power as it equalized between them.

A hysterical giggle spilled from her throat. Hermione felt a little giddy, full to the brim with magic. It was like champagne bubbles, tingling and swirling inside her. Scarlet streaked eyes met hers and Hermione felt the magic within her ripple in response. A dazed grin appeared on Riddles face and she giggled again. He groaned and Hermione remembered well that pleasure filled sound. Eddies of magic shuddered through them, its pull growing more insistent.

Absorbed by the flow of magic along the bond, they never noticed the stupefy spells sent their way.

Waking up for the second time in bed with Tom Riddle was nearly as traumatic as the first time. Hermione felt her pulse skyrocket and she desperately tried to remember what happened. To her dismay, Hermione found her memories rather incomplete. She calmed somewhat when she noticed the slightly numb area on her shoulder that signified that she had been hit by a stupefy spell. It was a sensation that Hermione had become familiar with after many an hour of dueling practice. Her mind was also set at ease by the fact they were both still dressed.

Once certain that her virtue hadn't been further compromised, Hermione looked about her. Much to her displeasure, it was the same room they had woken up in after the bond was created. Hermione guessed it had to be Dumbledore's guest bedroom. Deciding that the only way she'd get answers, Hermione began to slide off the bed. She had only made it a few inches when she realized her hand was still linked with Riddles.

Embarrassed by the contact, she tried to slip her hand from his. Hermione was horrified when their hands remained locked together. Attention drawn to the appendage, Hermione realized it ached fiercely and her muscles were painfully cramped. Riddle's fingers were compressed about her hand as much as hers was and no matter how Hermione tried, her joints wouldn't unlock.

"Riddle," Hermione called. "Riddle, get up!"

Between the girl's cries and how she was about shaking his arm right off, Tom returned to consciousness rather quickly. That he couldn't free his hand from her insistent grip informed him exactly why Granger sounded as if she was half-way to panicking. Not that he was much better until he realized his clothing was firmly in place. Dumbledore had to have dumped them in the room. That was yet another affront to remember. The room they now occupied brought back memories Tom would rather forget.

"Calm down, Granger. Our muscles have just cramped. Let me try something?" Tom said and drew his wand and cast a charm that should have relaxed their grip.

"Damn, what did we do to ourselves?" Hermione growled with frustration, as their hands refused to loosen enough to pull free.

"It helped a little. We'll have to do the rest the hard way," Tom sighed.

As he worked to loosen his fingers with his other hand, Tom considered what had happened. His memory was clear until he'd taken Granger's hand. What he did remember set his temper alight. Yet again Dumbledore had withheld information and let them stumble along blindly. Tom hardly liked being coddled but being lied to, even by omission, infuriated him. Methodically massaging a particularly tense finger into relaxing, Tom glanced at Granger.

How would she react to this latest development? If she took Dumbledore's side it would take a miracle for him not to curse her. Of course, Granger certainly didn't look happy. That he could use to his advantage. If he was careful, he could put a wedge between the old meddler and his pet mudblood.

"What was the last thing you remember?" Tom asked as his fingers finally loosened.

"A feeling of euphoria," Hermione began, prodding her memory to produce something solid. "I was being filled with magic and I almost felt like I would go mad if I could release it somehow."

"That's a good way of describing it," Tom replied flatly.

"I suppose we were knocked unconscious by Dumbledore."

Her words were filled with the distress she was frantically trying to hide. Awkwardly, Hermione rubbed at her hand. Her fingers ached with cramps and bruises were beginning to appear where Riddle's fingers had clasped hers. She expected that he'd soon have his own matching set. Each pain was a testament to the latest fracture in the trust she held for Dumbledore. No, it was something far more difficult for her to grapple with, that was bothering Hermione. Her faith in the Headmaster had been sorely tested by his less than honest actions regarding the bond. It hurt to know that when it was most important, Dumbledore had yet again withheld information.

It was clear that Dumbledore had anticipated a reaction at least similar to what they had experienced. She knew why he had stunned them. Given their mental state, they probably would have caused a lot of damage otherwise. Hermione mentally flinched at the thought. Maybe knowing what to expect wouldn't have changed anything. The euphoria she'd felt was unlike anything she'd ever know. That wasn't the point, though. It was a matter of trust and Dumbledore had betrayed her... their, trust again. Hermione looked up at Riddle.

"You're angry," Hermione whispered.

"Do you really expect anything else?"

"No, I suppose I didn't."

"You can't expect me to believe that you're not angry with that old fool!" Riddle growled.

"I am angry with him. I just don't know what to do about it."

"Unlike you, I'm not going to wait around for Dumbledore to use me again," Riddle said with heat.

"I never said-," Hermione began but she clenched her jaw around her angry words. "Do you really think I like this any more than you?"

A bitter laugh followed her words. Hermione flinched at the sound, knowing it echoed her own feelings far too well. She was angry at how they had been treated. They weren't pawns on a chessboard or dolls to be positioned and directed. It hurt to think Dumbledore saw her like that. The worst thing was that Hermione had no idea why Dumbledore had done it. What could be gained by lying by omission? He'd promised to be honest to them after the last time. Didn't he trust her or her judgment? Hermione had to bite her cheek to repress tears.

"We can't not do anything, Granger."

"He distracted us," Hermione admitted suddenly.

"What was that, Granger? When?"

"When we first began he mentioned alternate uses for the bond. Dumbledore purposefully distracted us to avoid explaining the alternate uses. We also never asked why we were compelled to touch when he radiated his aura."

Riddle swore and Hermione found her eyebrow rose in response. Voldemort had disdained to use profanity and Riddle seemed to avoid it too. That he swore and swore so vividly, took Hermione by surprise. She was almost compelled to laugh that something so base and vulgar would pass such pretentious lips. Following his outburst, Riddle took out his wand for a second time. With the ease that Hermione knew only came from long practice, Tom cast a complex privacy ward about them. She shivered a little at the sensation of Riddle's magic but did not protest the need for the spell.

"He neatly herded us into defending ourselves against natural curiosity and then moved on to another topic before we could question him further," Tom reasoned bitterly out loud.

"Not that our knowing makes a difference," Hermione said softly.

"Doesn't it? We know there is something else he's hiding from us. When will you get tired of being his lapdog?"

"One thing you should know by now is that I'm nobody's lapdog!"

"Well, you're doing a very convincing impression," Tom retorted and then shook his head.

"Then what _do_ you think we should do, Tom?" Hermione asked through the lump in her throat.

"Great Slytherin! Tell me you're not about to cry, Granger!" Tom hissed with disdain.

Rough hands pulled her around and bit into her shoulders. The burning Hermione felt in her eyes only seemed to worsen. She was horrified at her lack of control and the weakness she was showing. Looking into Riddle's disgusted face Hermione felt her hurt solidify into something else. How dare he judge her? Dumbledore had never been someone he'd trusted with his life. Riddle couldn't understand how hard it was for her to have someone she had admired and cared for betray her. Furious, Hermione tore herself from his grip and pushed him back a step. The look of satisfaction Riddle shot her, suggested that was exactly what he'd wanted.

"Just... shut up, Riddle!" Hermione spat.

"I will when you refuse to let Dumbledore use us any way he pleases."

"When did it all suddenly depend on me?" Hermione retorted.

"Now you're being purposefully obtuse. If you hadn't noticed, _I_ am the chattel in this arrangement. Dumbledore is not likely to heed anything I say."

"Somehow I doubt he'll listen to me if he hasn't already, Riddle. If _you_ hadn't noticed I've already told him I won't tolerate being lied to, or kept in ignorance. So far it hasn't done a blasted thing!"

"Then so much for your speeches about how we have to work together," Tom mocked.

"Excuse me?" Hermione blurted out, aghast. "This has nothing to do with our truce or working together."

"No, Granger, that is where you're very wrong. This has everything to do with it. Our little alliance is built on nothing more than trust. So far, when that trust is put to the test, I'm conveniently forgotten and you dance to Dumbledore's tune."

"You're saying I've betrayed you?" Hermione said in shock. "That is mad. Name one occasion!"

"The current situation would be a perfect example but I can think of others. The first, when Dumbledore told us he'd set his portraits spying on us."

"I didn't know about that, Tom. You know I didn't!" Hermione defended, angry at his accusations.

"You let him get away with it," Tom interrupted. "We both know the portraits are probably still reporting to him."

"What else could I do?" Hermione snapped. "The portraits can't be removed by students and besides, you've just proved that you know concealing spells."

"You still held me back!"

"Not that again!" Hermione cried in annoyance.

Somehow Hermione had known that would come back to haunt her a second time. Keeping Riddle from acting on his temper in Dumbledore's office had been necessary. Hermione just didn't understand why Riddle didn't understand that. Weren't acts of necessity part of the Slytherin house philosophy?

"Yes, that again!" Tom hissed. "It is the perfect example of what I am trying to hammer through your thick skull. You keep assuming the best of your precious Headmaster, when all he does is betray your trust. Even with evidence to the contrary!"

"And cursing him would have been a better choice," Hermione retorted with all the contempt she could muster.

"That's not the point. If this alliance, this bond, truly mattered you would put it first, not Dumbledore. I won't be treated like a house elf, Granger. If this is to work between us, then our first priority has to be to each other."

The clipped words made Hermione physically flinch. For a long moment, she deeply resented Riddle. He had flung her own words and resolutions in her face and then essentially dared her to be a hypocrite. The worst thing was that she couldn't deny what he'd said. Hermione had known that they would have to compromise and sacrifice. She'd accepted that like a true martyr to the cause. Conveniently, she'd overlooked the rest of what their bond and truce implied.

If the truce was to work, then she couldn't serve two masters. She had to make a choice. Already, Dumbledore had proved that he would try to manipulate them in one way or another. Even if it was supposed to be for the 'greater good', Hermione had come to the end of her forbearance. All of a sudden, Hermione felt very cold and very alone.

Could she turn her back on the Order for such a selfish reason? Already she had sacrificed so much. Surely that had to count for something! The war was over. There were no oaths that she would break by placing her own survival, and perhaps the hope of some happiness, above duty. With the defeat of Voldemort, the oaths she'd sworn to the Order had dissolved. Technically she was still a member but the binding ties between her and the Order were severed. She was now free to pledge her loyalty elsewhere if she chose.

Hermione took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Her recent conversation to Ginny seemed to haunt her. Despite all of Ginny's protests she had remained firm in her decisions. She had chosen her path. Perhaps, given how staunchly she had defended both herself and Riddle, she had known it would come to this... even if she hadn't wanted to admit it before.

"You're right," Hermione said.

The flash of hastily concealed triumph on Riddle's face made her stomach clench. He was right but Hermione would be damned before she let him use that to manipulate her. Hermione wasn't blind to his double standard. He railed at Dumbledore for his manipulative ways and yet indulged in the same behavior. The difference was Hermione had expected no better from him. With her, Riddle hadn't pretended to be anything but the proverbial serpent hiding in the grass. He'd won a concession from her but she would have one in return.

"The bond, _you_, should be my first priority... my first loyalty," Hermione began. "Just as it should be the same for you."

"What are you saying, Granger?" Riddle asked, suddenly cautious.

"If I am to renounce all other loyalties before our bond and the truce, then you must do the same."

"You would take my word?" Tom asked with skepticism.

"I'd take your oath," Hermione corrected.

"A blood oath? Are you certain?"

Tom's mind whirled with the implications. That he had pushed the girl this far was beyond his wildest dreams. The sheer glee he was feeling, over seducing away Dumbledore's precious mudblood was dangerously intoxicating. It would be so easy to let his victory go to his head but he knew he had to tread carefully with Granger yet. Besides, he wasn't so quick to blindly accept an agreement enforced by a blood oath. They already had one blood magic tying them together. Tom had to give her credit; he hadn't expected her to think so well on her feet.

"You said our truce relied on trust only. This will give you the guarantee you so greatly seem to desire," Hermione replied easily.

"It would go both ways, Granger. Exactly what oath were you considering?"

"An oath of loyalty. We would forswear all other ties before ours now and in the future."

"You Gryffindors never go halfway," Tom remarked lazily.

It was a tempting bargain, Tom knew too well. In one grand gesture, Dumbledore would lose Granger and she would be his. Tom could only imagine how sweet it would be to see the old fool's face when he found out! Of course, Tom hadn't anticipated forging yet another bond between himself and the Granger girl. They were already bound closely, although their existing bond was nothing like what was being suggested. Also, unlike what Dumbledore had done to them, creating a second bond was _his_ choice, _his_ decision. It was also something that would benefit him.

Still, a bond of loyalty was no small thing. All of his plans had been tentative but Tom hadn't ruled out contacting those still loyal to his older self. The bond the girl had in mind, would prevent him from ever regaining control of his Death Eaters. That was a rather large disadvantage, but there were always ways to work around such things.

The bond would also render Granger all the more easily manipulated. A loyalty oath would make her look after their interests before anything else and Tom fully intended to take advantage of that fact. There would be no more subtle manipulations of Granger's sympathies by Dumbledore and no lingering loyalties to his Order to sway Granger away from him. Hermione would naturally expect the bond to have a similar effect on him. It would but it wouldn't have the hold it would have on Granger. She was, after all, an essentially honest person, while he was... not. Lying, even to himself, was second nature.

"Very well, do you want to swear now?"

"We'd best do it now. I don't want to give Dumbledore a chance to interfere," Hermione said with more courage that she was feeling.

"Traditional wording?" Tom asked.

"I think that would be best."

Her handkerchief was easily transfigured into a knife. It glittered in her hand and Hermione wondered if she was mad. She knew what this would mean. What they were about to do amounted to a C class bond. If it was accompanied by a legal document that detailed specific requirements, then it would be considered a class higher, but a C class bond was still very binding. Nervously, Hermione summoned from memory everything she knew about blood enforced loyalty oaths.

Loyalty oaths were not uncommon in the wizarding world. Often they formed between business partners or between masters and apprentices. Most loyalty oaths, however, were more specific than the one she was about to swear. They usually were sworn so that they only bound a certain aspect of the participants' lives. General or specific, they worked in the same ways and Hermione was comforted in that knowledge.

The loyalty oath would make certain several things. Most importantly, no formal alliance could take precedence to their own. They would be forced to place their mutual interests first and no future alliances could be made without both their agreement. Any past contracts or oaths of lesser strength would be rendered invalid. The bond would also prompt them to keep in mind the other's interests. Finally, the bond could not be dissolved unless they agreed or a bond of greater strength rendered it invalid.

The oath would neatly sever Riddle's ties to his Death Eaters and prevent Hermione from being swayed by either Dumbledore or the Order. Perhaps it was a slightly melodramatic gesture, but Hermione knew that anything less would be shaded by doubt. They needed certainty and the oath would provide it. The logic was clear, as were the advantages, but Hermione still found her heart skipping beats with nervousness. Knowing it was necessary, Hermione lightly sliced her palm. Handing the blade to Riddle he too slit his palm. As one, they crossed their wands and linked their bloody hands together.

"I, Hermione Anne Granger, pledge my loyalty by wand and blood, to Tom Marvolo Riddle, now and forever."

"I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, pledge my loyalty by wand and blood, to Hermione Anne Granger, now and forever."

Magic crackled and heat burst between their joined hands. Their wands surged and Hermione's vision swam. As the magic faded, her legs turned to water and she found herself slumping to the floor. Riddle too sank to his knees, panting. Clearly they were not as recovered from their 'lesson' as they had thought. Her hands trembled but Hermione checked her palm. The cut was gone and so was the blood. Not even a scar remained to suggest what they had done unless they a spell was used to verify the bond's existence. In that case, the lingering magic used to create the bond would cause the flesh to glow where the cut had been made.

"We should confront Dumbledore, I suppose," Hermione sighed.

"Yes, we should. I doubt he'll be pleased," Tom said in a vastly satisfied tone.

"He won't be and I don't have the energy for either lectures or more 'lessons' tonight."

"Then you'll have to be firm. We can't allow him to stall us. Tell him we'll work out the rest on our own."

"I think I've worked out how we can block out the other's magic, anyway," Hermione replied reluctantly.

When they'd touched hands under Dumbledore's direction, Hermione had felt his magic in her. She had also felt her magic rush inside of Riddle. It didn't take a genius to guess that she could block his magic by reaching out and caging it with hers. Whether this would always require skin to skin contact would remain to be seen. Something that Dumbledore had been right about was that they would not be able to use their magic for anything else. Hermione also guessed it would take some degree of concentration, at least at first.

"So you made that leap of logic too. Good, then we can dispense with that manipulative old man and practice on our own."

"We'll also have to some research to find out what Dumbledore isn't telling us," Hermione added.

"The work will be worth it. We wouldn't want the old fool to have the advantage," Tom agreed with a nasty grin.

"Not for this, anyway," Hermione said softly.

"Feeling guilty, Granger? Or are your Gryffindor sensibilities rebelling against siding with a Slytherin?"

"I'm not feeling guilty," Hermione defended. "And I'm heartily sick and tired of petty house rivalries. Don't you find it ridiculous that so much is determined by the personality traits we show at eleven years old?"

"How refreshing, that you didn't jump to the Hat's defense. It is, after all, Godric Gryffindor's creation. As for my opinion on the matter; I believe that there is much to be said for the Hat's ability to read the human mind. Not that we should ignore the process of indoctrination that each student goes through once they join their house but we're being sidetracked, Granger."

"True enough," Hermione admitted, scrambling to her feet, more surprised by Riddle's response than she would ever let on.

The twinkling eyes of the Headmaster made Hermione want to throw something. Did he think they hadn't realized he'd held back again? Following Riddle's lead, Hermione didn't sit down or speak. The silence dragged on and finally the twinkling began to dull. Hermione was annoyed to find that she felt a pang of guilt. Ruthlessly she pushed it aside. He was the one to break their trust and she refused to let him play her again. She glanced at Riddle who seemed to be enjoying himself enough for the both of them. Hermione's tiredness seemed to double.

"I see you're well. I was beginning to wonder if you would sleep the night away," Dumbledore finally spoke.

"There were a few things Riddle and I needed to sort out between us," Hermione replied evenly.

"Indeed?"

"Did you know what we would experience when we touched?" Hermione asked.

"I would be lying if I said I did not," Dumbledore admitted without ado. "I assure you that it was necessary to stun the two of you. Being unprepared for the experience, a great deal of damage could have been done."

"I see. Are you aware that us being unprepared was partly your doing?" Hermione returned.

"I thought it better that you experience it without any preconceptions. Given that the way the bond was created, the results could have been very different. I also fear that any warning would have been futile. That aspect of the bond takes time to control."

"I can understand your reasoning, Headmaster but I can't agree," Hermione said firmly. "I told you that there was only so far we could be pushed and asked you not to do it again."

"I sympathize with your feelings of frustration but some things are simply necessary," Dumbledore replied gently.

"I never really understood Harry's position before," Hermione remarked softly. "Of course, my oath to the Order is fulfilled and shortly I will no longer be a student here."

"Miss Granger, I apologize if you felt I have been too overbearing. I have only tried to help you in the way I know is best."

"I realize that," Hermione allowed and then took a breath. "You chose me to be Riddle's guardian. In doing so you trusted me to know how best to deal with the consequences of the bond. You haven't allowed that. Instead you keep meddling. The truce that Riddle and I have created can't exist in such conditions."

"I see..."

Dumbledore's customary vibrancy seemed to dull. He sat back in his chair and ran his hand over his beard in consideration. Hermione felt her heart ache at the regret she could see in the old wizard's face. The anger she'd felt upon waking faded but she was left with the certainty that what she was about to say was necessary. She had to make Dumbledore understand she was serious about her commitment to the bond and that she was no longer at his beck and call.

"To insure its success we have sworn our loyalties to each other. That will insure that outside forces do not cause undue influence," Hermione spoke simply. "Thank you for your instruction, Headmaster, but it will no longer be necessary."

"I assume this is also what you want, Tom?" Dumbledore asked with a raised brow.

"Most certainly," Tom purred.

"You are correct, Miss Granger, that I did, and still do, trust you to do what is right with this bond. You see, I do realize how much the both of you had sacrificed to create this bond and I merely wished... Well, forgive me for trying to shelter you, far past the time I should have." Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I am certain you will quickly master what remains to be learned about the bond."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Hermione responded softly.

"Will you still allow the Order to regularly contact you?"

"I would appreciate that," Hermione said honestly. "We simply desire the freedom to make what we can of our lives."

"And that is most freely granted," Dumbledore said with sad fondness.

Tom had to admit that Granger knew how to make a stand. For all that the discussion had concluded on a somewhat saccharine note, the old fool's expression when Granger informed him of their oath, was a memory to treasure for years to come. It was slightly disappointing that Granger allowed Dumbledore's Order to continue to monitor them but Tom suspected Dumbledore would have sent them anyway. Regardless, when he had hoped to place Granger at odds with Dumbledore, he hadn't anticipated such a triumph.

As the conversation ended, Tom moved beside Granger resting one of his hands at her waist. As he had anticipated, his movement did not go unnoticed. Tom gave the old man a satisfied smirk as they began to move towards the door. He relished the trepidation he read in Dumbledore's gaze. Yes, let him let him know he'd taken his precious mudblood out of his reach and let him wonder what would become of it.


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10

It was amazing how quickly the life altering dulled to minor  
inconvenience. Hermione almost felt guilty that upon waking that she  
hadn't been inundated with feelings of dread or even panic. She had  
at least expected to feel something. Well, something more than the  
desire to close her eyes for a few more hours of glorious sleep. 

Hermione was still exhausted from the grueling training they'd been  
put through. Her limbs felt leaden and her eyes burned from lack of  
sleep. Given the circumstances, a little more sleep might have been  
the logical choice. The problem was that she and Riddle only had a  
day before she had to return to her normal Hogwarts routine. There  
were dozens of small details that they had to hammer out. Not to  
mention she wanted to get a start on researching their bond.  
Resentfully, Hermione wondered if that explained her apathy- she had  
neither the time nor energy for histrionics.

With a groan, Hermione pulled herself free from the refuge of her  
sheets and cracked open the curtains of her bed. Gingerly she fished  
for her slippers, wincing when her bare toes met cold stone.  
Mechanically she went through the motions of bathing and getting  
dressed. Once presentable, she moved into the common room. Seeing it  
empty she sighed.

Riddle was still asleep. Now she had a dilemma on her hands. She  
didn't have the password to the Head Boy's room. When Blaise had been  
in residence, they had swapped passwords in case there had been  
something that required both Heads' attention. That was not a  
courtesy she shared with Riddle. Despite the inconvenience, Hermione  
was rather glad she didn't have to rouse him out of slumber. She'd  
had quite enough of Riddle and beds. Feeling rather un-Gryffindorish  
she decided to persuade the portrait rouse the slumbering boy.

"Excuse me? Sir Dorante?"

"Huh- oh! Miss Granger, good morning!" Dorante said jerking awake.  
"I would have thought you still sleeping."

The gentleman dressed in foppish eighteenth century clothing bowed to  
her courteously. Hermione returned the gesture with a curtsey of her  
own, which looked awkward when compared to the portrait's florid  
gesture. It seemed to please the portrait, however, and Hermione  
plastered on the most convincing expression of hope and appeal that  
she could manufacture.

"Yes, well, there are things that Riddle and I need to do today. I  
don't suppose that you would ask him to join me in the common room,  
Sir Dorante? I wouldn't want to barge in," Hermione bluffed.

"Such a commendable sense of decorum and so rare in this day and  
age... I shall certainly assist you!"

Hermione was pleased her request had been granted. Dorante, like  
other warden portraits, were not usually inclined to pass on messages  
unless instructed by a staff member. She had, however, overheard a  
few comments made by Blaise Zabini that suggested she might be able to  
appeal to Dorante's overblown sense of propriety and gallantry. After  
giving her thanks, Hermione settled down before the freshly laid fire  
to wait.

Organizing her thoughts, Hermione began to sketch out just what might  
be accomplished in the time they had. They had never really finished  
the conversation about the Order and Riddle's cover and that would  
have to be settled before he had much more contact with the student  
population. With Dumbledore taking them aside, the students had grown  
accustomed to Riddle's presence but Hermione knew from experience that  
it only whetted their appetite for details about the new arrival.  
Once given the opportunity, they would descend like a pack of hyenas.  
That required their cover story to be perfect by tomorrow.

Research into their bond was another important priority. Of course,  
that could be accomplished during the coming week. Her reputation as  
a bookworm was well founded and a few extra hours among the stacks  
would never be noticed. As for Riddle... he was at Hogwarts to do a  
research project. It only stood to good reason he would spend  
significant time in the library. The sound of Dorante's portrait  
shifting pulled Hermione from her thoughts.

Apparently, damp hair didn't seem to detract from Riddle's air of  
composure. This made Hermione want to run a self-conscious hand  
through her hair, which undoubtedly looked as if it belonged on a  
banshee. Thankfully he didn't comment and instead fixed her with a  
strangely satisfied look.

"I assume this is about what we talked about last night?" Riddle asked  
as he settled in his usual chair.

"In part... but there are other things we need to discuss. The most  
important is straightening out the details on your false history."

"Surely that isn't as important as finishing our experiments with the  
bond and whatever Dumbledore is hiding. I doubt Dumbledore will allow  
us access to the library once the year is over. Not after we outfoxed  
him," Riddle countered.

"You would be right if circumstances in the wizarding world were  
different. The war has generated a great deal of paranoia. If we can  
establish who you are here, then things will be far less difficult  
later on," Hermione persisted.

"I am aware of how influential Hogwarts' gossip is, Granger," Riddle  
objected. "The bond, however, should be our primary concern. I am  
not unable to deflect curiosity or prevaricate when needed."

"The bond is important but we have a week to worry about it. I'm also  
confidant in your ability to avoid questioning. It's just that we  
have to keep our stories straight. Not to mention there is a lot more  
you need to know about. A lack of knowledge about muggle history can  
be excused but not ignorance of key wizarding events," Hermione  
reminded him.

"Very well, I can see your point. Just remember I don't expect to  
become the social lynchpin of Hogwarts."

"Given the looks most of the female students have been giving you, a  
certain degree of popularity will be unavoidable," Hermione teased  
straight-faced.

"Merlin forbid," Riddle replied in an undertone.

"Oh please, you can't tell me your pretty face hasn't compelled girls  
to throw themselves at you before," Hermione chuckled.

"You'll find that such things matter very little to me," Tom replied  
sharply.

Hermione was surprised by his sudden change of mood. She was aware  
that her words had somehow she'd trespassed upon something sensitive  
or too personal for the repartee she had come to enjoy with Riddle.   
What it was she had blundered into, she didn't know. Riddle was  
hardly the bashful type and Hermione knew he'd used his looks to his  
advantage before. He had certainly tried to charm her once or twice.  
So what was so different about this?

All she had done was suggest the female sex would find him appealing.  
Heavens, more than a few boys would too. The wizarding world was  
particularly swayed by two things; appearances and power and Riddle  
had both beauty and power in abundance. Harry had once mentioned  
Riddle had inherited his looks from his father. Was that it? Was he  
ashamed that he looked like his muggle parent? Hermione wasn't  
entirely satisfied with that explanation. There seemed to be  
something missing. Her comment had been directed toward the female  
reaction towards his attractiveness rather than his looks. Hermione  
felt there was something more to it but she decided it was wiser not  
to press.

"Admirable, I suppose," Hermione finally replied. "Just keep in mind  
that some of those girls are the worst gossips in the castle and-"

"And they can be used to our advantage," Riddle finished decisively,  
ending Hermione's sentence with his own twist. "Now give me the  
specifics of what you think we should do today. So far you've only  
spoken in the grand, sweeping statements that you Gryffindors are so  
fond of."

"And Slytherins are known for their directness," Hermione replied with  
unfettered sarcasm. "The work on your background will have to be done  
first. We'll need to rehearse it too. Then I'll give you the back  
issues of the Prophet and Quibbler to look over."

"The Quibbler? Has it changed that much? In my time Horatio Lovegood  
was considered a madman and his paper nothing more than a tabloid."

"His son owns it now and most of the stories are rather... farfetched  
but it printed a great deal about the war that the Ministry wanted to  
keep hushed up," Hermione replied with a blush, recalling some of the  
more outrageous stories she'd read in the Quibbler.

"Are you so certain that they're true?" Tom questioned.

"I am when Harry and the Order supplied the information."

"Just as long I don't have to read about the return of Merlin."

"Better Merlin than Elvis," Hermione muttered.

"What was that, Granger?"

"It was a reference to muggle popular culture," Hermione replied,  
momentarily taken aback when she realized that Riddle predated Elvis.

"Given we have so little time we should gather out materials," Riddle  
replied, and Hermione agreed with a nod. "I won't let concerns over  
what some insipid Hogwarts gossip might find out, take up time better  
spent on how we're to circumvent Dumbledore's interference."

Without further comment, they disappeared into their own rooms to  
gather the materials they would need. Over the last week they had  
learned to work together smoothly. This, Hermione counted as an  
advantage. She and Riddle were supposed to have worked together in  
the Order and it was nearly impossible to feign the easy communication  
and rapport that working together created. If they could just keep  
their stories straight, she knew this would work.

With renewed hope, Hermione opened her trunk. Her copies of the  
Prophet and Quibbler were neatly shrunken and preserved from damage.  
As she took them out, she suddenly wished she'd saved copies of the  
Prophet from her third year. A more comprehensive collection wouldn't  
hurt either. Hermione had only started collecting from her fifth year  
on. Even then, she had only kept the more important issues, which  
directly related to the Order, Death Eaters or Ministry actions.  
Hermione had never expected to need them as anything more than mementos.

Back in the common room, they once again familiarized themselves with  
the file Dumbledore had supplied. Before they did anything else they  
both began to rehearse and memorize the details. Hermione found  
herself comparing what they were doing to how she'd helped the boys  
revise for their NEWTs. She was temped to suggest making a set of  
flash cards but Hermione doubted that Riddle would take that  
suggestion well. Besides, his memory seemed far better than either  
Ron or Harry's.

Getting through the general details took until lunch. They then  
visited the kitchens briefly before returning to the common room.  
Their meal was in silence and Hermione did not feel the need for  
conversation. They had done enough of that with the scenarios they  
had played out, taking turns questioning the other. Now that was  
done, they had to work on fine tuning their story. Hermione wondered  
exactly what else they would be required to make things run smoothly.  
This was the kind of thing spies did, not school girls and once  
future Dark Lords.

Ignoring her doubts, she refocused on the parchment before her. It  
dealt with Riddle's financial situation, such as it was. As with the  
other documents in the file, Dumbledore had detailed what was true and  
what had been altered. Apparently, his real grandfather had owned a  
cottage in Little Hangleton, which had fallen to ruin. Ownership of  
the cottage had eventually returned to the Crown. According to a note  
in the file, muggle and magical records had their dates altered and so  
that the cottage was listed as being foreclosed and then torn down.  
The Riddle House, had apparently been tied up in the muggle legal  
system before it was destroyed by Voldemort, not long after he had  
returned to corporal form. Muggle authorities had it written down as  
arson by local vandals and the property had also reverted to the Crown.

"How accurate is this?" Hermione finally asked, gesturing to the  
material she'd been reading.

"Accurate enough," Riddle said in a clipped tone.

"You'll have to explain better than that," Hermione chided.

"Fine," Riddle snarled. "My mother's family lived in that hovel of a  
cottage and that was my father's house."

"You're familiar with both, then," Hermione clarified.

"Oh yes, Granger, you might say that."

"From when you killed them," Hermione replied with realization.

"I did kill my muggle relatives but as for my mother's father... he  
and my uncle did a perfectly adequate job of drinking themselves to  
death. Now if you're finished-"

"Look, I'm sorry if this is something you'd prefer not to talk about  
but we have to. If we're going to-"

"I understand the necessity of this, Granger! If it was only idle  
curiosity, I would never have tolerated this discussion. Understand I  
have cursed people for less," Riddle spat stiffly.

"Then we'll be brief," Hermione conceded, pushing back the urge to  
yell. "Where would it be most logical for you and your grandfather to  
have lived?"

"The cottage was about to collapse in my time. I suppose it wouldn't  
matter, though as common wards often mimic disrepair and ruin. That  
would certainly make sense if only to avoid the gossip."

"Good idea but what gossip do you mean?"

"Well, it was quite the scandal when the local squire's son married so  
beneath himself," Riddle snarled with venom. "When he threw my mother  
into the street the rumors were worse. They were still gossiping  
about it when I-. Using wards as an explanation will be sufficient if  
someone pries into my past'."

A tense silence fell and Hermione knew that Riddle expected her to  
question his rapid change of topic. She said nothing, allowing him to  
keep what dignity he could. It was unlikely people would dig in  
Riddle's past and Hermione agreed that his suggestion was believable  
if they did. His other records were also in order. The appropriate  
birth and death records both muggle and wizarding had been altered to  
stand up to all but the closest of investigation. Dumbledore had been  
busy indeed but there were details that still needed to be discussed  
and Hermione knew that wouldn't be well received by Riddle. 

Hermione wasn't sure why he seemed to swing between bragging about  
killing his muggle family and trying to avoid the topic. Even his  
wizarding family seemed to be a dangerous subject. He'd referred to  
them with an amazing degree of disdain. Instinctively, Hermione knew  
what she'd heard in Riddle's voice had been the remnants of hope and  
dreams ground to splinters long ago. He was ashamed of them as he was  
of his muggle relatives. He was ashamed that they had brought their  
legacy so low and had extinguished a once proud line through their own  
vice. Hermione felt a pang of reluctant pity for Riddle. 

"We still need to go over your family relations," Hermione spoke  
awkwardly.

"If we paint a picture of a distant and somewhat cold grandfather,  
with whom I had a difficult relationship with, I think we can avoid  
questioning easily enough. People tend not to pry if they think  
they'll be considered rude."

This time Hermione was very tempted to press Riddle further. It  
wasn't just because her curiosity was raging, either. There were some  
people who were only too happy to be rude. Rita Skeeter was a perfect  
example. There were also several gossips in Hogwarts that would go to  
great lengths if it would give them something to add to the Hogwarts'  
gossip mill. The brittle expression of defiance on Riddle's face  
stopped her. At some point, Hermione would have to trust that he  
could deal with prying questions. Perhaps she was allowing her own  
preference for careful preparation and planning to affect her  
judgment. If Riddle said he could deal with it, then she'd make that  
leap of faith and believe him. After all, he'd successfully fooled  
everyone about his ambitions.

"You are aware that you are essentially your own grandfather according  
to Dumbledore's tampering of the files?" Hermione began.

"I am aware. I assume that the Polish witch I, or rather my  
grandfather, supposedly married can't be traced?"

"No. There was an influx of witches and wizards from the Continent  
after the war. Asylum was granted openly and the ministries here in  
Britain and the rest of Europe weren't really in any position to keep  
good records due to the aftermath of Grindlewald and the muggle war."

"I suppose the same can be said for that... muggle?" Riddle asked with  
distaste, indicating the woman who was supposed to be his mother.

"Muggle records are more easily tampered with," Hermione replied with  
a shrug. "What of your schooling? Dumbledore hasn't supplied any  
information other than your OWL and NEWT scores. One of the first  
questions you'll be asked is why you haven't attended Hogwarts of one  
of the other wizarding schools."

"The Gaunts... my mother's family, never attended Hogwarts. Educating  
children at home isn't entirely uncommon among the more reclusive or  
eccentric Pureblood families," Riddle replied smoothly.

"Then that brings us to why you supposedly joined the Order," Hermione  
sighed.

"That is something I believe you would be far better at explaining  
than I," Riddle replied.

"Then we should adhere to as close to the truth as possible," Hermione  
said mulling the problem over.

"How are you going to manage that? My views on muggles are quite  
clear, although I am capable to maintaining a fiction otherwise."

"There were those who supported the Order who shared similar beliefs  
about muggles, Riddle. Those people simply did not like the  
widespread destruction or the increasing risk of discovery by muggles  
that Voldemort's tactics created."

"Then you're suggesting something similar?"

"Yes."

"I'm certain I'm capable of that. I'll have to read the articles you  
have carefully," Tom said guardedly. "My... distaste, for muggleborns  
will have to be downplayed, however, given our bond."

"True and that raises the question of why we're bonded."

"I believe Dumbledore already established that isn't a question that  
is proper to ask."

"Yes, but it also has to do with the last days before the final  
battle. You need to know about that," Hermione said quietly as  
memories flashed through her mind. "Besides, it's always better to be  
prepared."

"You said that a spell was used to unravel the spells my older self  
used in his quest for immortality," Tom replied, brushing aside what  
he didn't want to discuss.

Hermione nodded and then quickly reviewed what she'd already told him.  
What had happened in the last battle had not been as simple as simply  
casting a spell. A spell cast by one person would never have been  
strong or focused enough to put a dent in Voldemort's defenses. There  
had also been the added danger of having to battle their way through  
to Voldemort. Of course, the Dark Lord in his desire to kill Harry,  
had happily met them halfway. Carefully, Hermione began to explain  
what they had done.

"We'd worked for months to get the spell working. The problem was  
that it required a great deal of power. A single caster couldn't do it."

"A ritual... you did a ritual in the middle of a battlefield?" Riddle  
asked in disbelief.

"We had to. Necessity is a harsh taskmistress. There was one  
problem, however and that was that Harry had to be the focus but there  
was no way that Voldemort would give him time to do something like that."

"It would have been suicidal," Riddle agreed.

"Your older self knew that only Harry could kill him, so we used this  
to our advantage. While Harry kept Voldemort busy, Professor Snape,  
Ron Weasley, Professor Flitwick and myself combined our powers with  
Dumbledore as the focus."

"Now that was suicidal. Surely my servants would have prevented such  
a thing," Riddle questioned.

"They tried but Aurors and the rest of the Order were protecting us.  
I won't lie, though. That was when we encountered the most losses."

"It seemed like a huge risk for little reason. You already said that  
Potter was the only one who could kill my older self. That is, by the  
way, something you'll have to explain," Riddle replied with curiosity.

"That was what we were counting on the Death Eaters and Voldemort to  
think. What they didn't know was that we had worked out a way for  
Dumbledore to direct his power to Harry."

What they had done to destroy Voldemort had been groundbreaking in  
terms of magical theory and practice. Forging new territory for the  
practice of magic was all well and good but Hermione was only too  
aware of the inherent difficulties. Hermione could only say that  
desperation had made them willing to try anything. Explaining what  
they had done and why was complicated. Thankfully, the experience  
that Riddle had with ritual magic aided Hermione's explanation. As  
she detailed what had been done, she realized he seemed to have an  
instinctual or intuitive understanding of magic. The ease with which  
he grasped concepts and made leaps in logic made Hermione somewhat  
jealous. That, she supposed, was one of the things that made  
Voldemort such a dangerous wizard. Hermione shivered and returned her  
attention to her explanation.

The first problem with their plan was to do with the very nature of  
ritual magic. To work successfully, it took great focus. Each person  
involved had to meld their magic together towards a common purpose and  
then feed it to the focus. Usually this involved witches and wizards  
who had little practice in working together, which lengthened the time  
needed to conduct the ritual. When they planned to conduct the ritual  
on the battle field, they wouldn't have a great deal of time. It was  
Dumbledore who had finally come up with an unorthodox solution.

"Wait, you piggybacked the ritual on your oaths?" Riddle asked,  
breaking into her explanation.

"Yes. They were the common thread amongst us and we used the oaths as  
a guide for our magic."

"I assume the oaths were originally made in a ritual?" Riddle guessed.

"Exactly; they were a foundation that was already in place. It was  
easier to build upon that than start anew. Not that it would have  
worked if we hadn't practiced a great deal before hand. Familiarity  
with each others' magic also hastened the process. We managed to  
halve the time required to complete the ritual. Of course, there was  
another problem..."

Shortening the length of the ritual had a side effect. It made the  
magic all the more unstable and difficult for the focus to control.   
Dumbledore had been the only one with enough power and experience to  
direct the magic correctly. He had to be the focus of the ritual.  
The problem was that it was Harry who had to destroy Voldemort.

Their solution had only been possible with the combined experience of  
some of the most renowned wizards of the age. Alchemy, charms,  
transfiguration, runes and potions were used to create a coal like  
lump that could act as a conduit between the group and Harry. In the  
midst of battle, the group had cast the first part of the spell that  
would destroy Voldemort and sent it through the stone. Harry then  
directed the magic from the stone and released it on Voldemort. As  
Hermione described what had happened, her words seemed unequal to the  
task. It had taken nearly two years to create the stone, the spell  
and to practice it until their execution was flawless.

"The focusing stone... it had to have been created using something of  
the caster, or casters in this case. There would be no other way for  
it to act as a focus," Riddle puzzled out to himself.

"You're right. Like calling to like is one of the laws of magic. The  
stone was created using an alchemical base that was infused with the  
magic of the group and Harry. That allowed for Harry to springboard  
the spell to Voldemort"

"An unexpected way of looking at the problem," Riddle admitted with  
curiosity.

"It... it just made sense," Hermione said uncomfortably with a trace  
of embarrassment.

"You! It was your idea!" Riddle cried in astonishment.

"I can't take all the credit!" Hermione defended. "I just made a link  
between magic and muggle electricity and conductors."

Hermione felt uncomfortable claiming credit for the idea. Her idea  
had been their inspiration but that paled in comparison to all the  
work and ground breaking discoveries the others had made to make her  
idea a reality. Then there was the spell itself. True genius had  
gone into the creation of that. Hermione was more inclined to believe  
that her idea was simply bred of desperation and a passing familiarity  
with the already established theories of magic and muggle science. As  
Riddle eyed her with disbelief and a new caution, Hermione only felt  
more uncomfortable.

"False modesty is not becoming," Riddle replied with disapproval, that  
Hermione stubbornly ignored. "What of the spell itself?"

"The spell was created before the focusing stone. Dumbledore and  
several others had been working on it since Voldemort had shown an  
interest in immortality and the rumors of what he'd done began to  
circulate. It was adapted from the 14th century theory by Ricardo  
Delmonde for the systematic destruction of enchantments and wards. A  
great deal of work was required, though, to refine it. Even after  
that it was impossible for one caster. Maybe if we'd had time it  
could have been modified further but..."

"So what do you think is the best explanation for why I did not appear  
in the final battle and the existence of our bond?" Riddle asked,  
drawing Hermione from her memories.

"Some of those involved in the ritual employed various methods to  
temporarily increase their magical strength," Hermione began.

"Doing that can be extremely risky," Riddle remarked.

"It can be but most methods were fairly simple. Flitwick did a ritual  
with his wife to temporarily transfer some of her magic to him. They  
did so through the natural bonds that had developed over years of  
marriage. Professor McGonagall transferred some of her magic to  
Dumbledore through their old apprenticeship bond. Perhaps if we said-"

"That we bonded to do something similar? A bond of our degree would  
be required to do such a thing. It would certainly make sense, if I  
was supposed to have taken the role of researcher or advisor, rather  
than combatant," Riddle said.

"There is another possibility, too," Hermione continued. "The Order  
ran several clandestine missions to obtain various books and  
ingredients for the conductor and spell. What was required wasn't  
necessarily the kind of thing available in the open market, or even  
the black market."

"Dark Arts?" Riddle asked with sudden interest.

"Some of it," Hermione admitted. "I went on several and it wouldn't  
be difficult to say you went with me. Most of the Order was unaware  
of these missions. With your... inclinations it would be logical for  
you to be part of such a mission."

"And we bonded as a result of such a mission?"

"Perhaps."

"Hmm, that might be more plausible than simply saying we created such  
a strong bond just for the sake of one ritual. Besides, if we are  
pressured we could use the ritual explanation as a cover' for our  
illegal activities. If questioned further, we could finally confess  
to the real reason."

"Then you agree?" Hermione asked to be certain.

"It makes the most sense, although I would prefer not to reveal any  
details unless absolutely necessary."

"Agreed."

Personally, Hermione was rather taken aback by the level of paranoia  
Riddle was displaying. She didn't argue, though. She was pleased  
that he was finally showing an interest in working out the details of  
what would become a lifelong charade. His suggestions were well  
thought out, too. People were less inclined to accept an easy answer,  
especially if they were suspicious in the first place. It was also  
better to let prying minds be satisfied with the admission of a small  
wrong, than left discontented to stumble upon the truth.

"Tell me, Granger, were there any other bonds created before the last  
battle?"

"I know of several strong blood oaths and bonds between Aurors. A few  
of the students that were involved took minor oaths."

"Nothing from the Order?"

"Well... I suspect that Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks made some  
kind of bond between them. They married not six months ago, so a bond  
wouldn't be considered unusual."

"Then our bond won't be so unique," Riddle finally replied.

"If we're not pressed then I suppose it will be fine," Hermione said  
with reluctance, biting her lip. "Maybe we should-"

"What is your preoccupation with planning, Granger!" Riddle burst out  
unexpected in frustration and Hermione found her own temper responding.

"Well, forgive me for wanting everything to go smoothly!"

"Do you really think that all the preparation in the world will stop  
someone from finding out the truth, if they're really determined? You  
can't plan for everything," Riddle challenged.

"No, you can't but it will help avoid such situations!" Hermione  
defended, reining her temper in before she said something unfortunate.

"Fine but too many details will look as false as too little," Riddle  
growled and sat back in his chair. 

"Most of what we've discussed has been very general," Hermione  
retorted. "We still haven't talked about any small personal details  
that work partners would know."

"Like favorite colors and which order we put on our shoes?" Riddle  
asked scornfully.

"Well, that's the sort of thing-," Hermione snapped defensively.

"Enough, you are right," Riddle conceded uneasily. "My favorite color  
is purple and I put my socks on before my shoes."

"My favorite color is green-"

"Green? Showing a preference for my house, Granger?"

"Shove it, Riddle. I liked the color green before I had even heard of  
Hogwarts. When I was five I wouldn't wear any other color for three  
months."

"No fond childhood memories of ruffled pink dresses and a bedroom to  
match?"

"Hardly! Dressing girls in pink is a gender stereotype-"

"Enough, Granger, I don't need a lecture," Riddle interrupted waspishly.

"It would serve you right if I did lecture you on the feminist  
movement. Then again, I suppose my Mum will tell you about it in  
length, if you're not careful," Hermione said primly, knowing that his  
tone wasn't to be taken seriously.

Hermione had seen the looks he'd thrown her mother. Exactly why he'd  
seem so scandalized for the split second before Riddle had carefully  
covered it, she wasn't sure. Historically, witches had always been on  
far more equal footing with men, than their muggle counterparts. Then  
again, Riddle was muggle raised, although he'd rather not admit it.  
Not that being muggle raised would explain his shock. During the  
second war, women had been forced to take the duties that men had  
normally filled. After the war, many women had returned to the  
traditional role of housewife but plenty of other women had remained  
part of the work force. Surely it wasn't so astounding that her  
mother worked? Hermione pushed aside her curiosity but had to admit  
she rather looked forward to seeing how Riddle dealt with her mother.

"I live in terror," Riddle sneered halfheartedly and then rubbed his  
temples. "You still haven't told me how you put on your shoes."

"One at a time; sock and then shoe," Hermione replied graciously,  
accepting his unspoken, not-quite apology.

"If you weren't surrounded in a bower of pink, what was your childhood  
like?"

The question took Hermione unawares as did the wolfish smile that  
graced Riddle's features. For a few moments, Hermione squirmed  
uncomfortably. This was plainly revenge for all the questions she'd  
asked about his family life. Worse was that she couldn't avoid the  
question. She had said they should know what working partners should  
know about each other. That had implied she would have to reciprocate  
in some form, in this case, give details of her own past. Besides, he  
would learn about that eventually during the summer. Hopefully her  
mother wouldn't tell him too many embarrassing stories. Taking a  
breath, Hermione began to outline her family history and her childhood.

She had been blessed with supportive and attentive parents. This was  
something Hermione was immensely thankful for. Descriptions of  
Harry's relatives and observations of friends and classmates had made  
her realize just how luck she was. Hermione's parents had encouraged  
her intelligence from a young age but had been careful to instill in  
their daughter a good work ethic and to never take her intelligence  
for granted. In many ways, her home life as a child had been idyllic.  
After she had received her letter, Hermione had become aware of the  
awkwardness that had grown between her parents and herself. That was  
one of the things she hoped to resolve this summer.

"I suppose everything was all fairly normal until I received my  
Hogwarts letter," Hermione finished.

"Didn't you show any accidental magic?"

"Oh, I did, but it was mostly at school so my parents didn't see the  
more dramatic displays of accidental magic. What they did see was the  
kind of thing that was easily excused," Hermione said with a tinge of  
remembered loneliness.

"Then why at school?" Riddle pressed.

Hermione bit her lip. Interactions with children at her muggle school  
hadn't been very pleasant or successful. They had resented her  
intelligence and where they wanted to play games, she had desired  
nothing more than the curl up with a good book. There were, of  
course, the usual playground bullies that took a more physical  
exception to her presence. Hermione supposed that the strange things  
that happened when she was cornered had kept her from worse than  
shoving and taunting.

"Like any school there were bullies," Hermione said with a shrug she  
had to work at to look casual. "I was bookish and proud of the things  
I learned. The other children resented that but only a few took real  
exception. When they tried to tease me... things would happen. They  
never said anything to the teachers and I certainly didn't."

"What sort of things would they do?" Riddle asked his voice a soothing  
murmur.

"Oh, I suppose it was silly," Hermione said automatically, although  
the memories still stung. "Mostly they would call me names, exclude  
me and pulled tricks on me."

"Mostly... but not all," Riddle whispered, and Hermione winced at the  
truth in his words.

"Not all," Hermione admitted softly. 

Memories she hadn't thought of in years, sprang to the fore with a  
vividness that took her by surprise. Hermione could almost hear the  
chorus of derisive rhymes and taunts. In those memories she had been  
more alone than any other time in her life. The horrible sense of  
vulnerability she thought long forgotten was conjured back into  
existence by the flood of memory. It was as if she was once again  
eight; quiet, awkward and terribly shy which she tried to hide with  
knowledge lovingly gleaned from books.

"One day they started to push me and pull my hair. The teacher  
stopped them but the next day..."

"What happened, Hermione?" Riddle coaxed.

"The next day they cornered me on the playground. I knew that it  
would only be worse because the teacher had interfered the day before.  
I didn't know how far they'd go."

"You stopped it, didn't you? Tell me, how you stopped it."

"Sparks at first. When they came too close, their clothes would get  
singed. Then things would trip them or they would be pushed back.  
When they threw my books across the playground and they... came back."

"You showed them you were stronger than they were. They were afraid  
of you."

Hermione mouthed a yes but no sound could make it past her lips.  
After her books had swooped back, clipping them on the head before  
returning to her grasp, they had left her alone. They had looked at  
her in fear and malignant suspicion after that but they had left her  
alone. She had been grateful for it. 

"I showed them too," Riddle continued. "The older boys thought they  
could bully me. They would steal my blankets and the little things we  
were given from the charity boxes at Christmas. When I wouldn't do  
their homework for them they would beat me bloody... until I showed  
them I wasn't a dog to be beaten."

The hint of tightly controlled malice leaked from his dark eyes. It  
was as compelling as it was repugnant. Her whole body was shaking and  
Hermione could feel the bond thrum in response to the unconscious  
flare of Riddle's magic. Hermione had to look away but found she  
couldn't. The sheer force of that gaze paralyzed her wholly.  
Hermione wasn't sure how he'd drawn that confession from her. It  
wasn't something she'd told anyone, not Ron and Harry, not even her  
parents. It wasn't something she liked to think about. She hadn't  
liked the part of herself that those experiences had brought out.  
That part had depended on their fear of her and had even enjoyed it a  
little. Ironically, it was the same part of her that she had  
cultivated in the war. It was the ruthless side of her personality,  
that had led her to dabble in the Dark Arts and to kill Death Eaters  
without hesitation. 

"The strong survive," Riddle finally said and blinked, which seemed to  
break the trance and Hermione found she could finally look away.

Her stomach clenched in nausea and shame. Riddle didn't need to  
finish his statement. She also understood the subtle comparison he  
was drawing. He was insinuating that she was just like him. Riddle  
had managed to get under skin in a more personal way than he'd ever  
done before. Hermione didn't like how naked and dirty he'd made her  
feel. It made her want to regain her equilibrium by returning the  
favor. She wanted to throw his arrogant double standard, right back  
in his face. Of course, that was what he was expecting and in doing  
so she would prove his point. Hermione she was better than that. 

What he'd said about the strong was true. Life, people, could be  
ruthless and cruel but that wasn't all there was. Even in the middle  
of the war, Hermione had seen amazing acts of kindness and generosity.  
Maybe Riddle would refuse to acknowledge that, but she wouldn't.

"If that is all you believe, then that is all you will see," Hermione  
replied, her voice raw but unwavering. "There is also compassion and  
equality."

"Ideals are for those who can afford them," Riddle snapped.

"Ideals are for those who dare to live up to them," Hermione returned.

"Such a naive thing to say but not unexpected," Riddle retorted with  
casual dismissal and then bent to pick up the first of the newspapers  
Hermione had brought. "I need to read those past issues of the Quibbler."

Hermione nodded, saying nothing more. Nothing she could say would  
convince him. Somewhat disgusted, Hermione stood and left the common  
room, before she exploded. She wanted to smack Riddle but most of all  
she wanted to get rid of that horrible feeling that revealing those  
memories had left with her. Why had she done it? That had been a  
foolish thing to reveal to someone who would use it against her.  
Hermione shuddered. She wasn't sure if he hadn't already used it  
against her. Riddle hardly had to do anything to shake her  
self-confidence.

Hermione found her feet pushing her forward down the hall. Returning  
to the Heads' common room wasn't something she wanted to do for a  
while. If Riddle had questions about the newspapers, he'd have to  
wait to ask her. She wanted somewhere to sit and lick her wounds.   
Sheer habit had her walk towards Gryffindor tower. Outside the Fat  
Lady's portrait, Hermione paused with indecision. If she went in then  
Ron, Harry and Ginny would want to know what was wrong. Hermione  
wasn't sure if she could deal with their well meant chiding and  
concerns. She had made her decision and should she really be  
surprised when a snake did what was in its nature to do?

No, she shouldn't.

From the beginning she'd known what Tom Riddle was like. Hermione  
knew that there would be times he'd do his best to humiliate and hurt  
her. This wasn't even the first time she'd come out second best in  
their arguments. Hermione, of course, never took defeat well. It was  
just that when they weren't arguing, there were moments where she  
enjoyed his company. It was in those moments she sometimes caught a  
glimpse of someone worth knowing. Or maybe it was a glimpse of what  
he might have been and now perhaps might still be. That evoked a mix  
of complex emotions in Hermione. Sadness and regret were prominent  
but there was something else, too. It made Hermione want to fight for  
him. Maybe that was because no one else had. Plenty of people had  
fawned over him during his time as a student but they had been  
deceived. If they had seen beyond his charming smile and innocent  
demeanor, to find the darker features of his character, they had  
turned their back on him. Even Dumbledore. Was that simply pity?  
She wasn't really sure. She did know that she was afraid of it.

While there might be something worthy within him, there was also a lot  
of cruelty. Riddle had constructed his spite out of ignorance, fear  
and a refusal to see beyond his own misfortune and experience. He  
also had no problem with taking out his grudges on others. If his  
career as Voldemort wasn't enough, she'd just had that proven to her  
in a far more personal manner. 

Hermione knew you had to accept people as they were. To do otherwise  
was self-delusion and inevitably the cause of a lot of pain. Had she  
forgotten that? Hermione crossed her arms protectively across her  
stomach. Maybe she had but she refused to pigeonhole him like  
everyone else had. At least she wasn't as foolish as to think she  
could make Riddle change. What she could do was show him that he had  
choices and, most importantly, that those choices were just as valid,  
powerful and real as those that had led him to become Voldemort. 

The question was whether she had the strength to walk that road.   
Hermione found herself strung between her fear and what she felt was  
the right thing to do. Tiredly, she massaged her temples. In her  
heart, Hermione suspected she'd already made her choice. She was just  
reluctant to admit it to herself. For now she would visit the Room of  
Requirement and take out her frustration on a target dummy. With a  
tight smile, Hermione decided she would indulge in a little  
transfiguration to make the dummy to look like Riddle. Just because  
she was fond of the git, didn't mean she had stopped wanting to slap him.


End file.
